


This Fog Will Lift From Your Town

by HarperRose (Harper_Rose)



Series: The Fourth Floor [2]
Category: Doctor Strange (2016), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Anxiety, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Love, M/M, Magic, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Post-Civil War (Marvel), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Romance, Team Dynamics, Tony centric, not compliant with anything after besides Doctor Strange (2016) of course, stephen centric
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-29
Updated: 2018-05-29
Packaged: 2019-04-27 02:44:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 31,816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14415972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Harper_Rose/pseuds/HarperRose
Summary: A new villan makes himself known after Stephen has a premonition through a dream sending Tony and Stephen’s lives into more twists and spirals.In which there is Avengers team 2.0 bonding, proposals, family building, the return of certain someones, and Tony’s past comes to haunt.What else is new?





	1. The Pursuit of Attainable Goals

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “It is proved by surveys that happiness does not come from love, wealth, or power but the pursuit of attainable goals.” -Bridgette Jones’s Diary by Helen Fielding

Tony frowns pensively at the morning’s paper. It’s the local one that can be found at every convenience store and coffee house in town and that fact only erks Tony further. He shouldn't be surprised to see himself on the front page, with _“Iron Man Released From Third Stint In Whitetail Psychiatric and Rehab Facility,”_ taking up the headline. He can hardly see what makes his mental state headline-worthy, or why such a tabloidy article is on the front page of a respected news source’s product, but there he is all the same. The photograph was taken as he and Stephen headed to the car. It’s nothing really, it’s not even that interesting of an article.

That doesn’t make it any less obnoxious.

“Why do you even have this?” Tony asks.

Clint shrugs and takes a large sip of his coffee. “Dunno. I always get the paper. Habit, I guess. I’ll just…” he takes the paper away from Tony and pulls the pages apart, crumpling the first page up and tossing it in the bin.

Tony sighs. “I don’t know why they even bother. There’s no story.”

Clint shrugs once again. “I know.”

“It’s just an empty article. Who cares?”

“A lot of people, apparently. You are a superhero.”

Tony rolls his eyes. _Superhero._ He’s been seeing his name in the papers since he could read, this shouldn’t be any different. But it still _feels_ different. It still bothers Tony more than it should. He shakes his head. Maybe because they dragged Stephen into things too by throwing his face up there too and spreading gossip about the sorcerer that he doesn’t deserve. “Whatever.”

“You going to see a therapist today?” Clint asks, passing Tony his coffee.

The billionaire gratefully accepts. “Psychiatrist. And, yeah, I guess. It’ll make Stephen happy. He’s paranoid.” Nevermind that Tony’s the one diagnosed with paranoia. “Thinks I’m gonna fall apart if there’s a strong enough breeze.” He takes a seat beside the archer at the counter.

“I don’t know. Maybe he’s got a point. It could help. I’ve seen a psychiatrist.”

Tony chokes on his coffee. “No, you haven’t.”

“It was just a few times,” he says defensively. “SHIELD mandated it, it was actually helpful. That’s why it exists. Asshole.” Tony’s not sure how one can drink coffee aggressively, but Clint still manages it.

Tony huffs and rolls his eyes. Here’s the thing: Tony’s not really the therapy type. _Surprise, surprise._ He sat through the four and half weeks in a high-end psychiatric hospital/rehab facility only the rich and famous can afford because it made Stephen happy. If that’s what it takes to make Stephen happy, then there it is. And… maybe he had a small point- a very, very minuscule point. Tony had gotten ahead of himself and maybe he hasn’t been in the best headspace, but one does what one can to cope.

He still hates that word: _cope_.

He’s fucking fine, thank you.

“Yeah, well, I still say I’m perfectly fine in my garage.”

Clint shrugs. “Not my fight, dude.”

Lucky huffs and throws himself down on the hardwood by the foot on Clint’s stool. Tony looks down at the dog. “I feel ya, buddy.”

“Don’t emotionally bond with my dog.”

Tony snorts. “Maybe Stephen and I should get a dog,” he muses absently.

Clint very nearly suffocates on his coffee. “It would be dead in a month.”

“I take offense to that.”

  
“Please,” Clint scoffs. “You can’t even keep yourself together and Stephen’s hardly any better. We’re sure he was a doctor?”

He shakes his head. “He sure acts like one whenever I so much as stub my toe.”

Clint sighs. “So, the psychiatry thing,” he starts. “You really have no interest?”

Tony wets his lips. He wouldn’t say _that --_ he knows if he had zero interest he would just skip out. That’s what he does when he genuinely despises something. Stephen believes it will help, and Tony trusts Stephen. “It’s not like it’s my first time going,” he says. “After New York and… after Siberia, I went a few times. I had a therapist.” He shrugs. “I just don’t see how it helps if I’m right back where I started.”

Clint swallows. “It’s different now,” he says. “Isn’t it? Things are… settled down.” He shrugs. “There’s no apocalypse around the corner, no aliens dropping out of the sky.”

Tony feels his muscles clench and grows tense at the mere mention.

“Steve and the others are who knows where.”

“Good riddance.”

“Things are finally stabilizing, Tony. I’ve got Bishop practically living here, I’ve got a fucking dog,” he says. “You’ve got Stephen and, like, a family and shit now."

“Two people aren’t a _family.”_

“I didn’t mean just Stephen, you dickhead,” Clint says. “You and Stephen, but Pepper, Rhodes, Peter, Bruce - wherever he is- and… me.”

“You really are becoming the _feelings guy,”_ Tony says, parroting Clint’s use of the self-assigned title from weeks ago.

Clint sighs theatrically. “I know. It’s fucking bizarro.”

“You’re telling me, buddy. What kind of fucking _Twilight Zone_ shit…?”

Clint shakes his head. “I don’t know. Something Tasha said to me before she left, it’s had me thinking.”

“About _feelings?”_ Tony asks skeptically. “What the hell could’ve Romanoff, of all people, have said to make you think about feelings?” Clint shrugged nonchalantly, but there was something haunted in his expression that had Tony tripping over his tongue.

“It’s not important. It’s only…” he gestures with his mug. “I don’t know, man. You’re like a brother to me, so.”

Tony purses his lips and silently accepts the compliment. Clint’s face has gone a little pink in the cheeks and Tony chuckles. He doesn't think he’s ever seen the archer blush. He thinks he should be proud to have made such a shameless man grow so hot in the face.

 

* * *

 

Tony marches through the penthouse tugging uselessly on his tie, it feels too tight? Is it too tight? He feels like it’s strangling him, he can’t breathe. _Jesus Christ,_ why did he agree to this?

“Tony, relax,” Stephen urges, coming into the room and planting his hands on the genius’s shoulders. “You’re going to be fine, I promise.”

Tony allows a breath to shudder out of him. “Right.”

He presses a kiss to Tony’s lips. “You’re Tony Stark, you’ve got this.”

That promise doesn’t hold the same weight as it once had for Tony. Tony Stark had meant something significant before, it was the man behind the hero, the man that took down global terrorists, the face of _GQ._ Tony Stark was the man to be. Now, it just makes him feel small. He is growing tired of being Tony Stark, he would quite like to be someone new.

“I would rather be a nobody in a Seoul penthouse,” he says.

“Go to therapy, then we can go to Seoul.”

Tony sighs. He knows that Stephen would never force him into something he truly doesn’t want to do, and he wonders what it is in him that Stephen sees that keeps him pushing Tony towards the door. “I will hold you to that,” Tony promises. “My Korea property is fantastic, beats out the place in Dubai by a mile. Hasn’t hosted as many orgies either.”

Stephen’s nose curled. “Gross.”

Tony shrugs a single shoulder. “What can I say?”

Stephen shakes his head. “Just give this a try,” he says, “okay? If you absolutely hate it, then we’ll try something else. I know this isn’t for everyone, but we need to try.”

He groans. “I still don’t understand why I can’t just run away to South Korea, that’s what Pepper does when she's avoiding me.”

Stephen laughs. “Pepper was in Seoul for three weeks on business for _your_ company.”

“Likely excuse.”

Stephen claps him on the shoulder. “C’mon, Darling, to the car.”

Tony rolls his eyes but let’s the finely dressed sorcerer drag him along. He trails behind him and he thinks he’s got the best view.

 

* * *

 

As much as it pains him to admit, therapy isn’t a complete wheels in the air disaster. As he stands to leave, rising from the pleather sofa, Doctor Viton rises as well and they shake hands.

She smiles kindly, a soft upturn of pink lips. “It was lovely to meet you, Mister Stark. I do hope you choose to return next week.”

Stephen is waiting for him in the hall as he leaves the office. The sorcerer rises to meet him and smiles brightly. “How was it?” he asks.

“Horrible,” Tony shoots. “Zero out of ten. Let’s get out of here and burn the whole office to the ground.”

Stephen snorts. “That’s arson.”

Tony scoffs. “Oh, so now you refuse to commit arson for me?” Tony asks. “Unbelievable. I’m completely appalled and disappointed in you.” He turns to march away but Stephen catches him by the arm. Tony looks back at him with a sharp frown marring his features.

“Do you want to get some coffee?” he asks innocuously.

Tony represses a rising smile. “Yes.”

Stephen’s grin is bright and breathlessly beautiful as he takes the keys from his pocket and twirls them on his index finger “Wonderful.”

They make their way to the café that sits just a block from the Tower, the one that Tony frequents enough for the staff to know his order right away and they bring the two of them their drinks immediately. Tony sits across from Stephen in their booth, his leg bouncing restlessly beneath the table. He sips his iced coffee and sits back with his sunglasses obscuring his eyes from Stephen. The guy can read him far too well, desperate measures.

Stephen watches him apprehensively, watches him moodily slump in his seat. “Are you going to talk to me?” he asks. “Or just pout.”

“I don’t pout,” he argues. He’s a forty-some year old man, he doesn’t pout!

Stephen sips his milkshake. “No? How was therapy, then?”

Tony shrugs weakly.

Stephen sighs and pushes his milkshake away. “Tony. You’re acting like a child, and while on occasion I find it very charming and amusing, today it’s kind of annoying.”

Tony sighs theatrically and sits up straighter. “Okay, fine. It… wasn’t completely horrible.”

“Well, that’s gr-”

 _“But,”_ he ejects, “I’m not going back.”

Stephen sighs, but he nods. “Okay.”

Tony quirks a brow. “That’s it? ‘Okay’?”

“Would you rather I force you?”

“I’m just a little surprised,” Tony admits. “Didn’t expect you to give up so easily.”

“This isn’t giving up,” Stephen says, perplexed. “I’m respecting your decision, Tony. Hippocratic oath? I can’t _force_ you into anything.” He stirs his straw around the metal dish his milkshake is currently melting in. “Therapy isn’t the end all be all. There are other options, I just wanted you to try all of them out, Tony. I love you-”

“I love you,” he admits.

Stephen ducks his head, a short giggle escaping him. His grin is quick and ear splitting. “I love you and I want you to be the happiest your able to be. If there was a chance this could have helped then I wanted you to explore it. That doesn’t mean this had to work out. There _are_ other options.”

Tony grunts. He supposes this means back to the drawing board, or back to the doctor to get a prescription more like. “Not Xanax,” he insists. He doesn’t get any work done on that shit, it makes his head feel cloudy and his tongue feels like cotton. He needs his brain fully functioning, he’s Iron Man, damnit. He’s got things to build and people to rescue.

He taps his finger against the side of his coffee cup, the sweat of the perspiration cool against the pads of his fingertips.

He kind of wishes someone would explode something just to give him something to do. _He_ could explode something -- now _that’s_ a thought. 

“Are you thinking about explosions?” Stephen asks after Tony has been silent for too long.

Tony’s eyes narrow at the sorcerer. “Get out of my head.”

Stephen smiles brilliantly at the mechanic, his eyes crinkling around the corners. Just the smallest hint of crows feet. The man’s eyes fill with so much tenderness that Tony has to resist climbing the table separating them and sucking his teeth. He wants to run his fingers through the greying locks.

“I’m glad you’re home,” Stephen says.

“You’re telling me,” he scoffs.

“I’ve missed this,” he says. “It was only a few weeks, but it felt like a lifetime.”

Tony feels the grin spreading across his face, but he is helpless to stop it. “Why do you even like me?” he asks.

Stephen shakes his head, his expression just a tad whistfull. “Because you’re completely ridiculous.”

Tony snorts and takes a sip of his coffee. He thinks Stephen is one to talk. 


	2. Can You Repeat the Question?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> actual real plot is introduced

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here lies the introduction to the real plot. The good stuff, if I do say so.

Stephen finds it amusing how the two of them, he and Tony, are individually their own walking paradox. He never thought of himself as a pessimist, just a realist, yet he wields magic and sorcery like he’s been doing it his whole life and spent a lifetime saving the lives of others from supposedly lethal or chronic conditions. Tony is a futurist ( _the_ Futurist), a damn near optimist, yet he has seen and caused more death than any one man ever should and experiences the blackest of moods and still finds it in him to laugh at the most absurd of things. Neither of them has any right to be the way that they are, nor be so comfortable around each other. Yet here they exist, and here they find balance; they find one another.

He watches Tony as the mechanic tinkers in his garage, the most content Stephen has seen him in weeks. He moves between his computer, his blow torch, his soldering iron. Dum-E hovers beside him, whirring and beeping happily, seemingly pleased that his creator has returned. Stephen smiles.

Tony keeps his head down and grumbles to himself as he works. Stephen considers asking him what he’s been slaving over for the past two hours, but he knows he’ll either go unheard or receive a stunted and half sensible reply. He lounges on the sofa across the garage, leaving him with a view of the back of Tony’s head. He has his own texts resting in front of him at the coffee table. Old tombs he has borrowed from the library and has been intently reading through over.

Stephen thinks he has nearly read every piece of writing in the Kamar-Taj library by now in his determination to master every aspect of his powers that he is able, however, it’s the telepathy that he is still hesitant to practice in its entirety. So he’s been reading. And reading and reading and _reading._ While the concept of telepathy endlessly fascinates him, it is something that frightens him as well. If he concentrates, he can feel Tony’s consciousness, just hardly brushing the surface with his own. It’s not like it seems in the movies, it’s far easier than he had thought it would ever be - or should be. He can’t put the process into words, he just _reaches out_ and there Tony is. _Existing_.

Tony swats at his ear as if batting away a fly before things click into place for him. He whirls around. “Get out of my head! What are you doing?”

Stephen grins. “Practicing.”

Tony narrows his eyes. “As much as I love you, sweetie,” he says, his voice dripping sweet like honey and a grin plastered across his cheeks. “I will stab you with my screwdriver. Go practice with Vision or something, he has nothing to do.”

“He’s occupied with Wanda.”

“They back together then?”

Stephen hums.

“What time is it?” he asks.

“Almost five.”

“Let me solder this breastplate and we can go for dinner,” he says before pulling his welding goggles over his eyes. He looks like a complete madman and Stephen adores him for it.

“Tony Stark, are you offering to take me to dinner?” Stephen practically sings.

His only reply is an uproar of sparks from metal being welded into place.

* * *

 

Stephen has done a lot of changing since his accident, looking back he finds he is admittedly embarrassed by a few of his past decisions, admitted to himself and no one else he means. Despite his late-set and rapid journey to maturity, he still appreciates the finer things his income as a surgeon allowed him. Namely, at the moment, his most expensive pair of loafers. He likes the dark shade that’s near black and only proves a dark navy when the sun hits it just right, matching the three-piece of an identical color. It’s Tony’s favorite of everything in his wardrobe, he knows that much, if he can go off the looks Tony’s been throwing his way since he got dressed. He’s had his ass grabbed a few times as well (not that he’s complaining).

They walk arm-in-arm through Manhattan. The billionaire walks with his sunglasses perched on his nose, his hands stuffed in his pockets. He looks completely at ease and entirely too handsome to be real. “Where are we going?” Stephen asks. They’ve been walking for almost fifteen minutes towards Madison Square and Stephen has yet to ask what Tony has planned.

Tony shrugs. “It occured to me,” he says, swiping off his sunshades and folding them into the pocket of his suit jacket, “that I’ve never treated you to a proper date.”

“Sure you have,” Stephen says, “We go out all the time. We go to the diner almost three times a week.”

“Yes we do,” Tony agrees. _“But,_ you’ve never quite let me wine and dine you.”

“Maybe because I’m a grown man that doesn’t need to be wooed,” Stephen remarks dryly. “I’m already sleeping with you.” They approach a set of revolving golden doors encased in heavy dark marble. “Tony, where are we?” he asks softly.

The mechanic cocks his head at the door, a lopsided smile taking over his features. His eyes shine with the mischief of a man whose master plan is all coming together.

Stephen looks around and sees the sign that hangs over them in thin, illuminated letters. “Tony.” The billionaire takes him by the arm and brings him in through the doors. “Are we at-?”

“Yes, we are. Most expensive restaurant in Manhattan.”

The walls of the restaurant are light, complemented by dark framed wide and welcoming windows. The lights are dim and the room is filled with low french vocals and the soft chatter of dinner guests and silverware tinkering against porcelain and glass. The room smells rich with cuisine and wine. A server in a well-fitting suit greets them and takes them across the dining hall. People turn to look and whisper amongst each other as they see Tony Stark pass through. Stephen sees a few recognizable faces as he passes.

“You really do go all out,” Stephen marvels at him as they are taken to a private room. It’s a space clearly used for large parties, yet remains entirely empty save for the two of them. Perks of bing Tony Stark, Stephen assumes.

“I told you, wine and dine,” he shrugs off. “Not exactly the classic Tony Stark Treatment, but this isn’t the average Tony Stark Relationship either.”

Stephen blinks in surprise as Tony pulls out his chair for him. “Oka-ay, so this is weird.”

Tony unbuttons his suit jacket and takes his own seat. He smiles at Stephen charmingly, sweetly, none of that pseudo swagger that the playboy is known for in front of the cameras, this is all raw one-hundred-percent Tony Stark with none of the flare and pomp the media knows him for. Stephen feels so lucky to have him here, in this moment, completely alone. He is a surprisingly romantic man when he’s not trying to razzle dazzle you, Stephen finds.

“You’re completely ridiculous,” he tells him.

There are candles at their table that flicker and illuminate their faces in the dimness of the low lamplight. There’s a tall and smart looking white rose that sits in a brilliantly colorful vase composed of little shards of glass that reflect the light in little fragments across their white tablecloth.

“So you’ve said.”

They order wine and appetizers and Stephen takes an appreciative sip of his sauvignon blanc. They eat and they talk and they enjoy one another’s company. It’s the most relaxing time that Stephen has had in weeks.  “Why are you doing this?” Stephen asks as he pokes at the odd dessert they’ve ordered. “Not that I don’t appreciate it, I like having an excuse to wear velvet loafers.” He taps his shoes together like Dorothy under the table, pleased.

“Are they Versace?”

He dips his chin. “They are.”

Tony laughs. “I don’t know, I’m just appreciating you,” he says, taking a sip of his own wine. “Whitetail was boring as all hell and I missed you the entire time. Is it too much to ask that you let me treat you right?”

Stephen’s not sure he needs Tony to ‘treat him right,’ he just needs Tony full stop. “I’ll go with it,” he says. “Even if it is a little suspicious.”

“Don’t be so distrusting, Strange. Just let it happen.” He waggles his brows at the sorcerer and Stephen grins into his wine glass. “I also thought it would be a nice ‘thank you’ for, you know, sticking by me. I-” Tony stammers. “I’m not used to people making compromises for me like you do. You put your whole life on hold to _fix_ me.”

Stephen refrains from pointing out that Tony _is_ his life but instead he says: “You never needed _fixing,_ and if you did I wouldn’t be the man to do it.” Tony was already perfect, but Stephen may be biased. If anything, Tony’s the miracle worker in this relationship. He is the mechanic. Stephen is simply a surgeon. He does not create, but ensures the continued health of those creations. He saw in Tony, all that time ago at that hellish gala event, what was already there, he just hopes to keep it well and strong. He wants to nurture it and treat it kindly. 

Tony smiles at him softly and Stephen feels like his heart could break just from a look alone. He feels so fragile around Tony, yet wants to take on the universe. He feels open and exposed, and nothing has ever felt so good before.

Tony sets his fork down after he’s finished eating and says, “Clint said something to me the other day, about family. I’ve just been thinking a lot, and I want you to know that I love you but I also appreciate you, and I want to do this thing right.”

“You don’t have to try so hard for me, Tony,” Stephen tells him.

"No, just, listen, okay?"

Stephen nods.

"I've, I've lost a lot of people, good people. I've watched a lot of them do bad things and become bad people, but I've also seen a lot of very special people become better versions of themselves. You're the latter," he says. Stephen knows who he means: Banner, Parker, Barton, Potts, and he feels honored to be on the same plane as any of them. "I- I need you, okay? But I want you too. I love you. And that's a really weird feeling for me. I don't know how to do this, and maybe you don't either-"

He really doesn't.

"-so maybe that's okay and we figure it out together."

"That sounds good to me."

"Yeah?" Tony looks so god damn hopeful.

Stephen would be a monster to say otherwise, so he nods. "Yeah. You gave me a home, Tony. A place where I feel like I'm wanted. This is all very new to me too, you know? I've never... been the touchy kind of guy. I don't do  _this,_ and neither do you, yet here we both are. It's fucking weird."

"It really is," Tony agrees.

"But I like it."

"I do too."

"I like it a lot." The admission leaves Stephen somewhat breathless. He has thought about it a lot, yet words have always escaped him. He isn't accustomed to  _sharing_ his  _feelings._ That's not what he does. It doesn't come from a lack of a loving environment per say, although his childhood was nothing to write home about. It was _average_ he supposes. He has simply never been that man. As a surgeon his bedside manner had been shit, Christine told him so often enough and wouldn't she know? She was always more in touch with feelings and emotions and empathy. Stephen had never seen the point and whenever he attempted (usually doing his best to mimic Christine) he failed spectacularly, so why try?

He pushes the remains of his dessert around his plate and considers. “ _And_ _,_ ” he says, “since we are here, and in the vane of talking about family, I’ve been doing some thinking too.” He shifts in his seat to reach into his pocket and extracts a small box. The wood is smooth against his fingers and he feels his heart begin to race. He hesitates, but settles on doing this as cliché as he possibly can. So he stands and he kneels.

“What are you doing?” Tony asks. His face experiences the elaborate expressions of shock and confusion and denial all in the span of a moment.

“I know I already asked once-”

“Seriously, what are you doing?”

He swallows thickly. “But since we were interrupted by a decently sized life crisis the last time, I thought I would do this properly the second time around.” He fingers the box in his hand. “Tony Stark, you are the most important person in my life, ever, and I don’t know what I would do without you. So, would you-”

“Wait!” Tony blurts.

Stephen stammers to a stop. “Wha-? O-”

“Wait, just, hold on. I’m… I just need a second.”

“Are you-?”

“Shh! Just…” He runs a hand across his jaw.

Stephen nods and he waits. “Tony, would you-”

“Wait, please? I don’t- I just need to take this in,” he said. He exhales shakily and nods. “The last time you asked I was _really_ high.”

Stephen cocks his head. Not totally a necessary detail that he needs right now.

“I’d like to remember it clearly this time.” he swallows and nods. “Okay,” Tony breathes, making a little gesture with his hand for Stephen to continue.

“Okay?”

“Yeah.”

“Tony Stark, would you marry me?”

“Yes, of course I will.” Tony stands and pulls Stephen to his feet, kissing him solidly on the mouth. “Of course I will, you moron,” he speaks against his lips.

 

* * *

 

Stephen has never gone to sleep feeling more soothed and his muscles more pliant. He and Tony finally doze off, both spent and flushed, in the early morning hours. Stephen found an odd satisfaction in the ring that now decorated Tony’s finger. He wasn’t a possessive man, nor was he sentimental, yet there was something surreally romantic and… touching about the thin, hardly noticeable, piece of silver jewelry. He had had Tony screaming his name by the end of the night, and Stephen returned the favor.

He sleeps soundly, their limbs intertwined and the shorter man’s head tucked beneath Stephen’s chin.

 

          He dreams.

 

There are shapes and colors that swirl unrecognizably across Stephen’s subconscious. They are nothing significant, nothing special, not until he sees something green and hazy begin to formulate and grow sharp and distressing. Stephen grunts and tries to shake the haze that has settled over his consciousness. It is not something he could ever put into words, but his senses begin to become intertwined and entangled. He can _hear_ the soft shade of violent green that lurks over his dreamscape, he can hear the grating and aggressive screeches that the fog makes. He can feel a dampness in his ears and he reaches to cover them. Pulling his hands away he sees the blood staining his palms and he swipes them on his pants. His heart is racing thunderously, deafening him. Stephen looks around, seeing heavy tendrils of green that drip from the formless space around him like molasses.

He doesn’t know where he is, he doesn’t know who is here… but he _feels_ it. He feels the oppressive presence of _someone._

“Hello?” he calls, “is someone there?” His voice echoes around him and serves as his only answer.

Something drops, maybe, he thinks, and a loud echoing thud reverberates through the floor and vibrates through Stephen’s feet. It is jarring and unsettling. He looks down, noticing he is dressed in his robes. He takes a step back and feels a spike of anxiety coil in his stomach.

“Stephen Strange.”

Stephen jumps, feeling a jolt of electricity down his spine. “Hello?” He feels excruciatingly cold all of a sudden, feels it al the way in his bones, can see his breath in front of him as he breathes heavily. “Who’s there? What do you… want?” He trails off as the floor beneath him becomes reflective like ice; like metal.

He takes a step back, seeing his own face reflected back at him.

He watches with some small degree of horror and fascination as the space beneath his feet takes on a life of its own. It’s like a screen, a movie playing out before him in stunted scenes beneath him, as if trapped behind the icy surface of a lake. He sees… “Tony?” He watches the translucent and oblivious apparition of Tony walk by. He sees his mouth moving and Stephen wonders what he’s saying, who he is speaking to.

“Tony!” he calls.

The mechanic looks up and sees Stephen, his eyes growing wide with surprise. There’s an urgency that overtakes Tony’s expression that set’s Stephen on edge.

The magician drops to his knees, his palms spreading out against the icy surface, cold enough to burn his skin. Stephen begins to pound the surface. “Tony!”

He can see Tony’s mouth moving, can see him calling back to Stephen helplessly, his own fists pounding against the ceiling of his glass prison.

“Tony!” The space (the prison) in which Tony is trapped begins to fill with a black water and Stephen panics. “Tony!” He pounds harder, more forcefully, if only he can break the surface -- he needs to break the ice! “No, Tony-!” He can’t see him! He’s gone, he can’t see him-! he didn’t reach him! He can’t save him!

The sorcerer whirls around in anguish. He feels hot tears on his cheeks. 

A cloaked figure stands solidly before him. It doesn't move and it doesn't speak.

“What is this?” Stephen demands, his voice trembles but he swallows it down. This isn’t real. _This isn’t real. None of this can be real._

“Your future.”

He climbs to his feet shakily. “This is a dream," he reminds himself. "Who are you?”

“An enemy.”

Stephen frowns, his fists clenched tightly by his sides. He calls on the magic that lurks inside of him to conjure a weapon, he does what he always does… but nothing happens. He can not summon a weapon, he cannot create a fire, he cannot create any construct. He can't even feel the magic that sits inside of him, warm and safe, day in and out. What he can feel is his heart pounding in his chest erratically. So strong it is painful. “What do you want?” he asks sternly. “What do you mean?” The green fog smells rotten on Stephen’s tongue.

"I will not hesitate," the figure says, "to kill whoever stands in my way. You are a danger, Stephen Strange, to the balance this world requires.”

“Danger,” Stephen echoes. He scoffs. "I am protecting this world-!"

The figure (man?) holds his metallic hands out before him and they begin to glow- to illuminate with that nasty shade of green that Stephen is _really_ beginning to hate.

“Who are you?” he demands once more.

The man still doesn’t reply, he raises his hands, silently, and that effervescent green just grows and grows and grows and Stephen takes a step back. The green continues until it consumes everything, it becomes everything and it chokes him. It crawls up his nose, down his throat, in his eyes, all consuming until Stephen wakes from this nightmare with a jolt. A jolt strong enough that he finds himself jerking awake, chest pounding and body aching. He’s sweating heavily and he feels like he is _on fire._

“Stephen?”

He turns, his sweat dampened hair in his eyes, and sees Tony standing across the room and pressed against the wall, entirely undressed and holding a pillow and top sheet tightly to his person. “Tony?”

The mechanic clears his throat. “You were, ah, on fire,” he says. He gestures at the bed and swallows.

Stephen looks around at the mattress in shock. The mattress is scorched and charred around his hands, his fingers grip tightly to the sheets. His arms are cracked like cooling lava and the magenta hue of his magic fills the space around him like smoke, illuminating his hands and forearms. Stephen lets go of his death grip on the bed and folds his arms tightly in his lap. “Christ,” he croaks. “I’m so sorry! Tony, I...”

He shakes his head. “No, it’s- you were,” Tony swallows, “you were muttering to yourself in your sleep. You were burning up and twitching. I didn’t know what was wrong and then you were getting warmer and then you were _actually_ on _fire-”_

“I’m sorry.” He’s folded himself over his arms, holding tightly. He could have hurt Tony.

The billionaire approaches the bed and perches cautiously on the edge.

Stephen feels horribly sick to his stomach.

“Give me your hands,” Tony says.

“What? No!” Stephen shouts.

Tony rolls his eyes. “Just- don’t be ridiculous, give me your damn hands.” Tony reaches out and pulls on Stephen’s arms, extracting them away from Stephen’s abdomen. The sorcerer releases a sigh of relief when he sees the heat has died down and his appendages are back to normal. “See? Nothing to worry about,” Tony says. “Everything’s perfectly fine.” He rubs soothing circles on the back of Stephen’s hand, his finger dancing along the marred lines of his scars, still pink and raised after all this time. “Peachy keen. Nothing to see here. Care to tell me what all that was about, twinkle toes?” he asks.

Stephen swallows. “I, uh, a dream.”

“A dream?”

He shakes his head. “I think it was a premonition,” he admits.

“What like a psychic?” Tony asks disbelievingly. “Can you actually do that?” he asks.

“I don’t know. It’s not really something I’ve learned, but neither is this.” He gestures to his hands. “I’ve never had problems with them _catching fire_ before.”

“What did you see?” Tony asks. He sounds to Stephen as though he would really rather not know, but he has never been one to deny his own curiosity.

“I don’t know,” he says truthfully. He knows he saw Tony- saw Tony struggling and drowning, but he doesn’t know how the hell he is meant to interpret that. “But it was a threat.”

“From?”

He shakes his head.

“Okay,” Tony says with a stern nod. “We’ll cross that bridge when we get there I guess.” He shuffles back into the bed and closer to Stephen.

Stephen scrubs his hands over his face, rubbing at his eyes. He’s exhausted but he can’t shake the dreams. “Why don’t you go back to sleep, love?” He kisses Tony on the brow. “I think I’m gonna go make some coffee.”

Tony looks at him fondly before reaching out for Stephen’s hand as he climbs off the mattress. “I’ll start the coffee,” he says, “Make some breakfast.”

Stephen ducks his head but returns the grip Tony has on his hand and squeezes. He nods. “Sounds good.”

“Then we can head to Kamar-Taj and see if Wong knows anything about premonitions. It’s what? seven in the evening over there? That’s not too late." He smiles winningly at the magician. "We'll make a day of it. Peter's been dying to see the place, we'll swing by and grab him on the way. And I’ll order a new un-roasted mattress.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thoughts, friends?


	3. I Try To Be Human (But That Never Works)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kamar-Taj and more

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys are all so nice, your comments on the last chapter were so kind and I deserve you guys. So many of you were saying you'd binged the whole thing in like a day, like bless you. 
> 
> //
> 
> chapter title from the Wombat's 'Out of My Head'

“Welcome to Kamar-Taj!” Tony spreads his arms wide and grinned beatifically at Peter, feeling like PT Barnum introducing his newest act. Only this isn’t his show, but Stephen’s. Still, he feels the need to razzle dazzle when the kid is around. Can he be blamed? It’s probably a fault but he doesn’t mind.

Peter looks at him with awe. “Is this where you trained?” he asks Stephen, who bows his head.

“Yes. And I really shouldn’t be bringing so many _guests_ along, so behave.”

Peter nods dutifully.

Tony rolls his eyes and smacks Stephen on the arm. “Relax, cupcake, he’s not going to break anything.” Tony’s not oblivious to the way that Stephen is tenser when Peter is around, or anyone not Tony for that matter. He's not exactly an affectionate man, but neither has Tony been in this past. Still, Tony seems to have a natural knack for children that Stephen wholly lacks. Even for all of Tony’s bluntness and lack of tenderness, he is a showman. People love showmen, especially kids. Doesn’t hurt that Tony likes the kid either, he feels comfortable around Peter, yet entirely too afraid of making mistakes around him. He wants Peter to do as he says, not as he does. “C’mon, Pete, I’ll show you all the cool totally scientific shit, that is definitely not magic because magic isn’t real, that they’ve got lying around. And, yes, we will be home in time for dinner.”

“Aunt May is gonna be pissed if you don’t show. She’s making eggplant parmesan.”

“Pete, I wouldn’t miss your aunt’s home cooking for the world.” That woman was the real wizard here, she made the best Italian food Tony has had since Maria had been well enough to cook. Not that she did much of it, wealthy women didn’t need such a menial skill.

Stephen opens the door, letting them in off the streets of Kathmandu and Tony barrels past him. There are a few sorcerers about as they make their way to the library. All new students that Wong has been leading in training with Stephen’s assistance when he has the time. A few look their way as Tony unceremoniously makes his way inside, but they hold their tongues as soon as they see Stephen, their Sorcerer Supreme. Stephen had worn his robes and everything out of formality. Showing his position of leadership and guardian of the New York Sanctum.

They bow their heads at Stephen and the sorcerer returns the gesture. Tony would complain that this is all a little too culty, but he’s already had that discussion with Stephen. They wear matching robes, that’s all he is saying. It’s suspicious.

“Mister Stark, do you think I could learn to be a magician?”

“Sorcerer,” Stephen corrects.

Tony rolls his eyes. “Who wants to be a witch-”

“Sorcerer.”

“-when you have tried and true science, Pete? She’s a cold and cruel mistress at times but she’s grounded in reality.” Tony can practically hear Stephen rolling his eyes.

“Yeah, but, I’ve seen Doctor Strange do things that I’m pretty sure Neil Degrasse Tyson said are impossible.”

“Then Tyson is wrong,” Tony says. “Don’t get your information from ‘scientists’ with talk shows, Pete.”

Peter snorts.

“They’ll say anything to sound intelligent. Which isn’t a difficult feat, have you talked to the average person lately. Idiots, all of them. Besides, I’m sure you can find that plenty of the ‘magic’ that Stephen does is covered in Hawking’s theories of quantum mechanics and multiverses. Hell, if anything, Stephen has proven String Theory. Well, he’s on his way to it. Or maybe I am, he’d just chalk it up to mysticism and voodoo and I’d be left to do all the heavy scientific lifting.”

“Voodoo is a religion, Tony,” Stephen deftly corrects.

“Multiverses?” Peter asks like he expects Tony to just be fucking with him. Which, Tony is slightly proud of him for his caution, but Tony doesn't joke about multiverse theory.

They come upon the library and find Wong sitting dutifully at his desk, sorting through papers that predate Christ and reading something in absurd hieroglyphs that give Tony a headache just trying to read them.

“Wong,” Stephen greats happily, his eyes light up at the sight of him and Tony smiles.

The other sorcerer looks unimpressed. “Stephen. Come to return my stolen books?”

Stephen winces. “Do I have your books?” he asks innocuously. “I don't recall.”

Wong flashes him a look through narrowed eyes.

“I had a question,” Stephen prompts.

“A question. You bring your lover and your child along to my sacred library to ask a simple question.”

“Lover,” Tony echoes.

“I’m not…” Peter trails off.

“They won’t touch anything,” Stephen vouches. “It’s a little more than a single question, and inquiry, really-”

“Stephen is having premonitions,” Tony ejects. “And, seeing as you’re the master librarian, any ideas in any of your books, Obi Wan?” Tony likes Wong, they’ve met a few times and Tony finds his dry wit amusing and lack of amusement with Stephen’s lame jokes refreshing.

“You are having visions of your future?” Wong asks, far more serious. He rises from his chair and Tony takes a step back.

Stephen clears his throat and wets his lips. “Not my future exactly, just a possible future. It wasn’t very clear. That’s why I came to you.”

“What did you see?”

Stephen shifts uncomfortably on his feet. “Tony.”

The mechanic blinks. “What now?”

“I saw Tony,” he admits breathily like he is suddenly winded. “And I saw a hooded figure - I couldn’t make out his face.” He thinks of Kaecelius and it sets his mind reeling.

Wong's expression is stern and Tony doesn’t like any of this. “There are a few texts that the Ancient One forbid new students from reading. She warned against the dangers of pursuing visions, attempting to see one’s future is a highly dangerous pursuit. However, they may be of use here.”

Wong leads Stephen down an aisle of books and Tony watches them go. He looks at Peter, feeling somewhat defeated and a little nervous. Why had Stephen had a vision of _him?_ What had he seen? Why hadn’t he told him about that this morning?

“Mister Stark? Are you okay?”

Tony wets his lips. “Yeah, I’m… thinking. It’s nothing. Stephen can handle this. I’m just gonna… I need some air.” He points _somewhere_ before committing and meandering in that direction. His mind is whirling.

He wanders down a hall and finds an old door that sits crookedly in its frame, the knob is crystal and jiggles loosely as he turns it. Tony forcefully shimmies it open and slips outside. He finds himself in a courtyard, standing under unfamiliar stars and a mostly cloudless night. The sky is so much clearer in Nepal, no New York City or L.A. smog obscuring the sky. Tony likes the smog, he doesn’t like the stars. The stars make him think of spaceships and invasions and all the cheesy sci-fi movies he can’t even bring himself to watch and laugh off these days. He’s a little pissed that real life aliens ruined Star Trek for him.

He takes a seat on the brim of an ancient looking stone fountain, placing his palms flat against his thighs. The stone is engraved with small ruins and words in languages he doesn't speak. For all that Tony dispises the stars, the cool air and the soft trickle of the fountain soothe his frayed nerves. He feels like he can _breathe,_ which is good. That’s all well and lovely, but Tony is suddenly overwhelmed with the desire to go home. He rubs a palm over the arc reactor in his chest just to remind himself that it’s there.

“What the hell did he see?” Tony wonders out loud.

There’s a bird chirping somewhere behind him.

_Why wouldn’t he tell me?_

Tony knows. He knows what the only thing in _his_ future that Stephen would want to keep from him. The one thing no one wants to know. He runs a hand across his jaw, scratching at his facial hair.

 

Stpehen saw his death.

 

He is going to die.

 

  
“Fuck.”

 

* * *

 

Stephen hovers over Wong’s shoulder as he flips through the pages of ancient texts, his blue eyes scanning every page and reading quickly as Wong searches for the exact page he needs. He leans against the librarian’s chair and taps his fingers with nervous energy.

“You’re sure it was a premonition?” Wong asks.

Stephen shakes his head. “Well, no, but it was a vision of some kind. It wasn’t like any kind of dream I’ve had before. It felt like a threat or a warning with a definitely threatening undertone.” He remembers every second of it with crystal clear intensity. A cursed mind.

Wong pursed his lips. “Your thoroughness is stunning.”

Stephen rolls his eyes. “I had a vision of someone threatening my life- Tony's life! I saw Tony d-” he cuts himself off with a heavy sigh, his palms flat against the desktop. “I need to know what it means.”

“No book is going to explain your dream, Stephen,” Wong tells him solemnly. “Only time can do that.”

“I don’t have time!” He can’t waste time wondering when someone is going to attack. He can’t sit around while Tony is in danger- while the both of them are. He growls in frustration and runs both his hands through his hair. “Aargh! I can’t just wait around a let it happen!” He begins to pace, hands planted on his hips.

“It may not,” Wong sighs. “These things are not always so black and white. It was likely symbolic and open to interpretation. It isn’t a play by play.”

"Then how is that any different from a dream?" he asks.

"Dreams are rarely so detailed."

Stephen scoffs. "Where'd you get that line from?"

"An Asgardian."

Stephen rolls his eyes and sighs. None of his is what he wants to hear, but fuck, what did he expect? He had hoped against reason that he would find an answer.

“Doctor Strange?”

Stephen turns and sees Peter, shuffling on his feet and looking a little lost in the ancient space around him. “Peter?” Stephen had thought he had followed Tony to wherever he wandered off to.

“What happened in your vision?” he asks. “To Mister Stark, I mean?”

Stephen grinds his teeth.

“And, don’t lie to me, please,” Peter urges. “I can help with whatever is about to happen.”

Stephen grinds his teeth and taps out a rhythm against his thigh with a trembling hand. “I couldn’t save him," he admits. "In my dream, I couldn't get to him in time. I couldn't do _anything_.”

Peter swallows and his lip trembles just a tad, but he squares his shoulders and he keeps his head up.

Stephen forgets how young he is.

“I’m not going to let that happen," he tells him sternly. It's a promise.

“Neither will I."

Stephen nods. "Okay then."

 

* * *

 

 

“Tony!” May takes his face in both her hands and plants a kiss across his brow. Tony could melt under the sheer amount of affection she delivers onto him with each visit. She dots on him as if she isn’t just a year or two Tony’s senior. “It is so good to see you,” she tells him. “And Stephen Strange, it’s wonderful to see you too.” She gestures for the two of them to come in and so they do. Tony’s happy to get out of the rather narrow hall. They’ve already been spotted by the guy four doors down who they nearly gave a heart attack because _Tony Stark!_ in _his_ apartment complex!?

“Buonasera,” Tony greets. “You’re looking younger every day.”

She rolls her eyes. “And you’re getting cheesier.”

“That’s her nice way of saying you’re getting old,” Stephen pokes.

“Hush. I’m as youthful as I’ve ever been,” Tony tells him.

“Oh yeah, you could totally pull a Jump Street,” Peter quips from his place on the couch, “easily.”

“You’re grounded.”

Peter barks a laugh. “You can’t ground me!”

May purses her lips. “Peter, you’re grounded.”

Tony barks a laugh.

The kid sticks his tongue out at Tony and he can’t help but chalk it up to the horrible influence Michelle has clearly had on him. That fake redhead is trouble. Tony thinks that’s just a common trait in redheads, whether God intended or bottle made.

May, the wonderful Italian woman that she is, makes parmigiana. And really, it’s better than anything Tony has had in years. The woman is seriously a witch or something. It’s that damn fine cooking that has Tony always coming back.

The apartment is calm, and it’s peaceful. There’s soft seventies music playing from a vintage record player, and once the sun has set the apartment becomes illuminated by soft, yellow, lamplight. May is all too happy to keep the conversation going over dinner. She smiles brightly, her eyes flashing behind her glasses. She is a delight, as always, and Tony thinks about how well she would get on with Pepper. Why hasn’t he introduced them? Maybe he should bring her next time. She clearly likes Stephen, and the two of them talk enthusiastically about old music and movies Tony has never seen.

It’s a pleasant evening, and Tony finds himself laughing at something Peter says, mouth full of eggplant, more than once.

Still, he can’t shake the seed of dread that has taken root in the pit of his stomach. Stephen’s vision - his premonition. He can’t stop thinking about it. He knows… he _knows_ what he must have seen. It keeps Tony on high alert and there is no way he is not going to go grey by the end of all this. Stephen’s already growing a grey hair a second, he swears.

They haven’t addressed it. No one’s mentioned the vision, no one’s mentioned what Stephen spoke of to Wong. Nothing. Just two men walking side by side in their own separate darkness. Tony doesn’t like being left in the dark.

“Have you heard from Doctor Banner yet?” Peter asks, drawing Tony’s attention back to the present.

“Uh, no, not yet.”

Peter chews his lip. “Where do you think he is?”

“Bruce? Who knows,” he shrugs. “Took SHIELD ages to find him the first time. He’s probably back in India, saving somebody’s life. He swears up and down he’s not a medical doctor and then runs off to the furthest third world country to do just that.” Tony rolls his eyes. God, he misses Bruce. “He’ll show up.”

“Hopefully in time for the wedding,” Peter says.

Tony doesn’t blush - he fucking _doesn’t,_ damn it. But holy hell, he isn’t ready for the sheer _joy_ that radiates from the very core of him at the reminder that he’s engaged. To Stephen fucking Strange, at that. A man who loves him like he’s something new to be treasured. A man he met at rock bottom and saw Tony through it. He thinks he’s only just now, after all this time, seeing the pay off at the end of this ridiculous fucking train wreck of a road. That’s Stephen’s doing. Tony didn’t need him to come along and save him, he wasn’t a damsel in need of rescue, but damn it’s been nice to have the extra hand.

“Wedding?” May asks.

Stephen clears his throat. “I asked Tony to marry me,” he says, poking at his eggplant with his fork.

“What? Oh, my- congratulations!” May smiles so widely at the two of them Tony thinks she just might try to hug him.

“We don’t have anything planned,” Stephen is quick to explain. “We haven’t had time to discuss it.”

“There’s no rush,” Tony says.

They spend the evening at the Parkers. It’s good, it’s nice - it’s _normal_ he thinks. It’s an odd reprieve from being Tony Stark: billionaire and public icon. It doesn’t last the night. The calm shatters the second they return to the tower. It’s like a wave crashing against a solid rocky shore; explosive and cold.

“Start talking,” Tony demands, throwing his car keys on the kitchen counter and letting them clatter metallically against the granite.

Stephen takes his time removing his jacket and hanging on it's hook beside the elevator doors. “I thought May’s taste in films was laking.”

Tony rolls his eyes. “About the vision, you complete asshole.”

“There’s no need for name calling,” Stephen says lazily, inspecting his nails as if completely oblivious to Tony’s fraying patience.

“Stephen.”

“Look, Tony, it was just a dream,” Stephen says with spread arms. "It only has whatever significance we assign to it, it means nothing." He’s going for nonchalant, but Tony’s not an idiot and he can read the man like a goddamn book. A really lengthy novel in a foreign language.

“Like hell. What did Wong say to you?”

“That it was a dream, open to interpretation. It isn’t a play by play of our future,” he says.

“I swear to god, Stephen, don’t lie to me about this,” Tony says, his jaw jutting as his molars grind. “This involves me - my life!”

“I can take care of this, Tony,” Stephen argues.

“Not alone. Not when you don’t have to.” He sighs. “Look, I’m just as big of an asshole as you are, I know what you’re trying to do. It doesn't work. You can’t lie to me about this.” You can’t beat a con man at his own god damn game.

“I am trying to protect you!”

Tony groans and runs both hands through his hair, leaving it to stand on end and look properly mad as he scrubs his hand roughly across his face. “Keeping me in the dark isn’t protecting anything! Why the fuck won’t you just say it? I already know, so just _say it!_  I’m not a fucking idiot, you don’t need to treat me like Rogers does.”

“Don’t compare me to that lamebrained halfwit,” Stephen bites. “Steve Rogers is an impetuous and inordinate fool-”

“Then stop acting like him!” Tony shouts.

Stephen shut his mouth, his teeth making an audible click.

Tony sighs, running his hands across his jaw and groaning. “This is exactly the shit Rogers would pull. He would act like he knows best, like he knows more than _me -_ the fucking genius.”

“Tony-”

“No,” he says pointedly. “No, you let _me_ talk.”

Stephen nods, looking thoroughly ashamed.

“He would keep everyone in the dark,” Tony continues, “but I’d’ve already figured it out. I would be left to take care of his mess, to control his damage radius, and he would still blame me when it blew up in his face.”

Stephen looks like he’s been punched in the gut. “Tony, I’m-”

“I know you saw me die.”

Stephen shakes his head. “I saw me unable to get to you. You were consumed-” He closes his eyes, swallowing heavily past a solid lump in his throat, adam’s apple bobbing. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize to me,” Tony tells him. “I’m trying to be more honest with you, and with Pepper, but I need you to do the same for me.”

“Of course.”

“I need to protect the one thing I can’t live without,” Tony says. “And that’s you.”

“Then you understand that I-”

“No, I don’t understand. I can’t lose you, but that doesn't mean I’m going to lie to you or ask you to stand down in the field. Because I can trust you to handle your own. You need to trust me to handle mine too, Stephen. I’m a big boy, I’m-”

“Iron Man, yes I’ve heard.”

Tony rolls his eyes and huffs indignantly. “I don’t say it _that_ often.”

Stephen looks at him fondly, crossing the space that Tony had put between them and taking his face in his hands. He kisses him and Tony leans into it. “You really do, and I love you for it,” he says. “I promise not to keep things from you. I don’t do it intentionally”

He snorts. “I don’t believe that.”

“Not with ill intent.” He exhales shortly and wrings his hands. “You told me once that you aren’t used to having someone to lean on. That goes both ways. We both have adjusting to do.”

“We’re sure taking our sweet time of it.”

Stephen chuckles. “Yeah, I guess we are.”

Tony’s own mortality hangs heavy over the two of them as they consider what they know and what Stephen predicted in his sleep. _Consumed,_ Stephen had said. What the hell is that supposed to mean? He would ask, but he’s certain Stephen doesn’t know either. “So what now?” he prompts.

Stephen shrugs. “We wait, I guess.”

“For me to die?” He knows it's their only option, but it's still unsettling.

“For the threat to expose itself,” he says. “I don’t even know who I saw. I couldn’t make out a face, and even if I had, what good does that do us?” he asks, arms open and letting them drop uselessly against his thighs.

“Fine, okay,” he exhales. “Pack your bags then."

“Where are we going? We're leaving?”

“We’re not staying here. I’ve been in New York too long, they’ll expect us to be here. We can leave tonight and not tell anyone. Pepper can tell the media we decided to go on a little vacation to the property in London if anyone starts asking questions. It’ll confuse the press and anyone who’s trying to find us,” he says. “It’ll give us time to prep for an attack under the radar.”

“Where are we going?” Stephen insists.

Tony grins. “We’re going home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm actually really happy with this chapter and I hope you all are too!
> 
> Let me know your thought.


	4. One, Two, Three, Not It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> some plot and action

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm actually really fucking happy with this chapter, the plot is really starting to get spicy and I'm just really excited to share this chapter.

Stephen sits with the Eye of Agamotto sat solidly in his hands, the stone in its center proudly gleaming in the dark of the night like a beacon for wayward sailors. He sits with his legs folded on the balcony overlooking the sea. The sound of the ocean waves beating incessantly against the rocky shore is soothing and clears his mind. There are no seabirds chirping and squawking at one another, just silence. A frown mars his forehead as he sits with his eyes shut, the cloak is wrapped soundly around his shoulders and keeping him a foot off the ground.

The Eye rests in his palms, held tight to his person. He lets his mind drift as he thinks. As he wonders and wills his mind to conjure a solution to the world’s problems - to his problems.

He’s been so fixated on the possible threat to Tony’s life, he has nearly forgotten the one made against his own. He hasn’t told Tony about that. The shadowed and hooded figure of his ‘dream’ had called Stephen a danger to the world’s balance. He wonders what he meant. He wonders on his own mortality.

He focuses his energy on the stone that sits as the Eye’s iris and pupil. The orb has an energy that calls to his mind, reaches out and temps him. He has spent many hours studying the stone, learning the power that it allows. Turning time forward and back again is one thing, but he has read the Ancient One’s notes on the artifact, he knows what it is capable of. “Scrying,” is a word for it, the one assigned years ago. He feels it apt enough, yet lacking in some degrees. This is far more clairvoyant.

He lets the stone’s power wash over his mind and takes him forward into the many possible futures. He needs to know- he needs to know how this will play out, all of it. He needs certainty. They still don’t know who they’re fighting.

He sees every reality laid out before him as he’s whipped through them - torn through them violently and without care. It’s horrible and nauseating, but his determination outweighs any discomfort.

There are trillions of possible futures, of possible realities that can be born of every decision and footstep. They send Stephen’s mind whirling and aching and he feels his skin tingle; he feels electrified.

He refuses to stand down, he needs a face - he needs to see _his_ face.

_There!_

He sees glimpses of a hooded man, a masked man - his face is covered. It’s an iron mask. He wants to reach out and pry it off, but it’s useless and he can do nothing. He’s just an onlooker peering into the knowledge of the world that he has no right to trespass upon. He sees the future open up to him and it leaves him breathless.

 

* * *

 

Tony wakes feeling winded and sweaty, his shirt damp where it clings to his back. It’s a nightmare, an old one, featuring alien spacecrafts and demented space gods with green eyes and sharp scepters. It leaves his chest feeling tight and his fingers itching to _build_ and _create_ and _protect._ He feels ashamed of himself for ever letting his mind get muddled by substances he couldn’t help but abuse. He needs his mind clear, clear like it is now from the adrenaline, so he can build and protect the things he can’t do without.

He rolls out of an empty bed and showers and dresses.

He feels a little more calm after the shower, but the dreams still linger.

He finds Stephen sitting on the back patio, overlooking the Pacific. He hesitates before the threshold of the wide doors and watches him a moment, observing. He’s still in a ratty t-shirt and dark sweatpants, that damn sentient cloak firmly around his shoulders. Stephen’s hands shake violently in his lap and the longer Tony looks he sees that Stephen’s entire body is shaking. His hands begin to weave elaborate shapes and patterns in the space before him, his head begins to twitch back and forth as if seeing invisible things.

Tony decided he’s seen enough and throws the sliding door open, rushing towards him. “Stephen, hey!” He sets a hand on the sorcerer’s knee and grips it hard. “Stephen! C’mon, Glinda. Hey.” He watches Stephen’s face contort before his eyes open and he gasps, crumpling to the floor. Tony jumps back in surprise, landing on his own ass.

Stephen shouts in surprise and lands haphazardly on the lawnchair he had been hovering above. The chair tilts precariously and dumps Stephen to the floor.

Tony sees a flash of green in his eyes as he gasps like a fish at Tony, failing to catch his breath.

“Hey, hey, I’ve got you,” he assures him. He gathers Stephen off the concrete, pulling him half into his arms. “Breathe, Stephen.” He brushes the greying hair from Stephen’s face.

“Tony?”

“What the hell?”

Stephen shakes his head, tremors still wracking his body.

“What were you doing?” Tony asks. He eyes the Eye that hangs limply around Stephen’s neck.

“Attempting to find our hooded friend.”

“The guy from your vision?”

Stephen nods. “Yes. I looked into our possible futures.”

“How many?”

“Six-trillion-three-thousand-forty-six.”

Tony swallows. “And?”

“We die prematurely of a variety of causes in half of them.”

Tony snorts. “Not really a shock, babe. Half? You know that’s actually a little low by my estimates.”

Stephen straightened himself and smooths his hair into place. “It wasn’t as detailed as I would have liked,” he says. “I’m not so accustomed to using the Eye for this purpose, I only saw glimpses into these futures and nothing more.”

“Did you find him then?”

“Sort of. I saw his mask, not his face.”

“Mask?” Tony groans. “Great, so under the hood of secrecy there’s a mask of anonymity. Who does that? Who wears a hood _over_ a mask? Ever heard of overkill? We get it, you have a secret identity.” He shakes his head. “Whatever.” He stands and brushes his hands off on his jeans. “How long have you been out here?”

“What time is it?”

“Almost ten.”

“Six hours.”

Tony rolls his eyes. “You are such a hypocrite.” He offers Stephen his hand and he pulls him to his feet. “Why don’t you go shower,” he suggests. Stephen’s brow is lined with sweat and his eyes are glassy and there are creases that accent them and shadows that line them.

Stephen nods. “Good idea.”

“I’m glad you think so.”

“I’m not always argumentative.”

“No, you’re just always right.”

Stephen holds up his palms. They still carry a tremor, but neither of them mentions it. “Argumentative, Stark.” He snorts.

Tony’s brow twitches downward. “Sorry, I’m in a mood. I kinda wanna punch something.”

“Well I’m going for a shower, have fun solving the mystery of your inner rage.” He saunters away and Tony watches him go.

“Mhm.” He’s irritable, the side effect of a restless sleep. His hands still itch to build something. He taps against the reactor. “FRIDAY, wake up the children.”

“Right away. We are ready when you are, Sir.”

“Good girl.”

He swings by the kitchen to grab himself a coffe before heading to the workshop. As promised, the garage is up and running when he descends the stairs. The machines are whirring and Dum-E and U are wheeling around excitedly, but it’s Butterfingers that makes his way to Tony first, beeping and rolling around him. Tony grins and pats him on the top of his cam. “Hey, buddy, missed you too.” He throws himself down in the wheely chair behind his desk and claps his hands together as their screens come to life.

“Welcome home,” FRIDAY says.

“Good to be back.” This garage has always been the closest thing to _home_ that Tony has ever had. He feels safe here, his mind feels clear. “Alright kiddies, who’s ready to get to work?”

“What are we planning, Boss?” FRIDAY asks.

The bots roll about and clatter against each other. “Hey, Dum-E, watch where you’re rolling, I’ll turn you into a wine rack.”

The bots arm droops and he beeps moodily. He really shouldn’t have made his robots so sensitive. “Start a new project file, Fri,” he says. “Call it ‘Project Mask’, and keep it triple-encrypted. Keep me posted on security as well.”

“Done and of course,” she chimes.

“We’re gonna log everything we know about this mystery man,” he says. “Although, so far not a lot to add.” He types up the vague description that Stephen had given him: about half a foot on Stephen (around 6’7” then), a heavy black hooded cloak, a nondescript iron mask and metal body plating, plus green smoky magic to boot.

Tony’s hand freezes over the keys. “Fri, where’s Stephen?”

“He’s still in the shower.”

“Tell him to get his ass down here right now.”

“Right away, Sir.”

“Pull up everything we have on Doctor Doom.”

Screens and holograms illuminate the garage with a scattered array of shoddy security cam and newsreels, photos from people’s social medias. What they have on him in incredibly limited. He was listed as a person of interest in SHIELD files, of which Tony has all of, but the info they have is lacking and leaves much to be desired.

Tony stands and paces around his desk, crossing his arms over his chest. He scans through what they have quickly before digging for the clearest image of the enigma-like man that they’ve got. He wets his lips and frowns. “How the fuck did I not put this together sooner?” he wonders. He runs a hand across his jaw. “I really am getting old, huh?”

“I think it’s best that I don’t answer that,” FRIDAY says.

“I didn’t program you to sass me, Fri.”

They had been so caught up in the mess with the UN and Rogers to even think about Doom since his attack on the Municipal Building. He had thought Tony dead and therefore vanished into the nether, but surely he would return should he think Tony still alive, right? But why not attack outright? Why come to Stephen in odd dreams? How does he know of Stephen at all?

Tony’s mind runs wild with speculations and possibilities. None of this sits right with him. “What in the hell does he want?”

Stephen comes skidding down the spiral stairs moments later, his hair dripping and dressed in nothing but his sweatpants and a damp shirt. “Tony! What is it?”

The mechanic blinks. “Why are you soaking wet?”

“I was in the shower.”

“Yeah, I mean you could have at least dried off before putting clothes on.”

He looks at Tony, bewildered. “FRIDAY said ‘urgent’.”

“Right. Yeah.” Tony twirls the holographic image till it faces Stephen head on. “This guy look familiar?”

“Who’s that?”

“Doctor Victor von Doom. The ‘doctor’ part is a liberty, he never finished grad school.”

“The man that threw you off a building?”

“The very same.”

Stephen shakes his head. The sorcerer has never had a good look at the guy, only seen him through grainy newsreels and indecipherable images. “You think this is him? The man who threatened us psychically.”

“I think it’s our best bet. From what you’ve told me he looks a bit different now.” Tony tosses a towel Stephen's way before he begins to pace, his arms folded tight over his chest. “Ditched the dramatic drapery that would make Asgard proud.”

“He looked like you,” Stephen says, running the towel over his wet hair.

“Excuse me?”

“Like the Iron Man suit, kind of, a little bulkier,” he clarifies. He points at the floating image. “But not as clunky as… _this.”_

“Sleaker?”

Stephen nods. “It’s not your tech though, it can’t be. That’s not possible.”

Tony shakes his head and agrees, “no, it’s not. There have been no breaches of security and I’ve not misplaced any suits haphazardly. And even if I had every suit is programmed to self-destruct if anyone attempts to reverse engineer them.”

“What then?”

“I don’t know, and I _really_ hate not knowing.” He taps against the arc reactor.

“How do we move forward?” Stephen asks.

Tony hums. “I’ll call Maria and have her gather the circus as soon as we know more. If he’s coming for us we still don’t know what he wants. Best to have the team on standby in case this blows up.” With their luck, they should be expecting actual explosions. “He hates me, we know that much, but why the fuck is he coming for you?”

“He said I was a treat to the balance of the world.”

“Because you’re magic?” Tony wonders. “He does magic too, though, remember? He blasted me from that roof without touching me.”

Stephen shrugs. “Then something else.”

“When you say he looked like me,” Tony prompts. “Specifics?” He moves to the large workbench and picks up a smartpen, twirling it in his fingers.

Stephen crosses his arms and shrugs. He looks around the garage, mentally comparing the photo perfect image of his vision to the suits that surround them. “I don’t know. Like I said, his suit wasn’t as slim, broader shoulders, but it was still streamlined like it could take flight. He had a cape, not like this,” he waves at the hologram. “Not so much fabric, just a simple cloak.”

Tony draws while Stephen talks. The workbench has a tech feature that allows it to convert into one of his many holographic screens. He strips down the specs of a Mark II before adding some bulk to the arms and thighs. “Describe the mask.”

“More lifelike than Iron Man,” Stephen says.

“How so?”

“A nose, for starters,” he snorts. He starts to pace closer to the suits lining the workshop. “The chin was sharper, it came down in an angle.” He gestured around his face, his fingers angling down to form a point. “And it had a mouth. It moved when he spoke.”

“Unnecessary,” Tony scoffs. “Any other pointless details?”

“There were lights,” he says. He points around the arc reactor of the Mark XXI. “One was about where the reactor is placed, but there were two more along the collar bone on each side. Oh, and when I say streamlined I don’t mean airtight. There are visible bolts.”

Tony speaks after a beat. “Alright, here’s what I got.” Tony gestures for the specs to leave the desk and snaps his fingers as it hovers between them. “How’s this check out?”

Stephen hums. “Pretty accurate.”

“Fri, toss it in the file. It’s the best we’ve got until we get a good look at the guy. And send it to Maria, keep her in the loop.”

“Gladly,” FRIDAY chimes.

“So what do we have on Doom?” Stephen asks.

“Practically nothing,” Tony tells him. “SHIELD’s files are embarrassingly lackluster. We know he’s from Latveria, he came to America in 1990 on a scholarship to MIT. He dropped out in ‘93. He was smart, not too smart, but he was near genius.”

“That’s it? That’s all we’ve got?”

“He was born in 1972. No known relatives.”

Stephen curses, folding his hands behind his back. “I guess that’s what we’re working with then. I am going to go to Kamar-Taj, I’ll be back in a bit. I told Wanda we would train today, she’s expecting me. I’ll see what enchanted objects or hidden spells I can dig up from the catacombs that may assist us. Promise to call if anything arrises.”

“Alright, Sunshine, hugs and kisses. I’ll be here. Don’t pull a muscle sparing with the kid, I need you flexible and spry, old man.” Tony sends him a wink and taps the smartpen against the worktop. He watches Stephen ascend the stairs. “We’ve got work to do, Fri.”

“What work might that be, Boss?”

“Bring out mark thirty-seven. I want the nanotech perfected before sundown.”

“Then we have some serious work to do,” she says.

“Yes, we do.”

 

* * *

 

Tony is still in his lab when night falls, blasting music through the surround sound. He hasn’t realized how late it is until FRIDAY pings him, his music shutting off. “Boss, it would appear we have a visitor.”

Tony sets his tools down and pries his welding mask off. “What? Who? No one is supposed to know we’re here, FRIDAY.”

“It’s a woman. Identity is unknown, I’m afraid.

Tony jumps to his feet. “Seriously?” He wipes his hands off on a filthy rag and tosses it aside. He pulls up the security feed and sees the solid white Maserati that sits in the drive. “What the hell?” He hurries out of the lab, taking the stairs two at a time. When he makes it to the front room, hoping down the mini flight of stairs and passing the waterfall that illuminates the space in the dark, the mystery woman is already at his front door. He taps the face of his watch and extracts the Iron Man gauntlet, letting the earlier attempt at nanotech wash over his hand, encasing it in strong and reliable vibranium and titanium alloys.

He opens the door.

The woman smiles brightly at him, all perfectly straight white teeth and pink glossed lips. Her long dark hair is brushed over her shoulders and her heels are higher than anything he’s ever seen in Pepper’s closet. “Tony Stark," she says on a sultry note.

Tony blinks and barks a disbelieving laugh. “Whitney?”

She brushes past him, leaving Tony dumbstruck. “Been ages hasn’t it?” she says, brushing a hand across his arm on her way.

He shuts the door behind her, feeling his heart hammering from adrenaline. “Yeah, you could say. I haven’t seen you since college.”

“The funeral, wasn’t it?” she asks.

“You didn’t come to the funeral,” he corrects. "You said it wouldn't be very 'fashionable' of you."

“Oh, that’s right. Silly me,” she chimes “I’ve always been so forgetful.”

She holds grudges like she holds Armani handbags. Tony has never known her to forget anything. “There’s not a kid or anything waiting in that car, is there?” he asks, a little pale.

Whitney Frost barks a laugh. It’s cold and brittle like ice. “God, no!”

He can’t deny the relief he feels. “Oh thank god." He watches Whitney inspect the space around her with a small spike of anxiety. He hasn’t seen Whitney since his MIT days, they had a falling out after his parent’s funeral, as per her character. He hadn't been surprised, just hurt. Whitney was always cold and insensitive. Tony had loved that about her, up until it terrified him.

He wishes Stephen was here. He must still be at Kamar-Taj. Tony tries not to fret about it, it’s not very late in the day in Kathmandu after all. Tony is confident he must be thoroughly distracted by his training Wanda and other new prospective sorcerers. Kamar-Taj does need a more experience sorcerer since Wong is spending most of his time at the New York sanctum, especially now that Stephen has left the city. He’s sure Stephen will be gone for some time.

“Whitney, look, not that I’m not thrilled to see you- well, no, I’m not. Thrilled I mean. What are you doing here?” he asks.

“Am I going to have to beg for a drink?” she asks.

“Help yourself.” He waves absently at the minibar.

She looks at him and grins, happily grabbing them each a glass and filling them with whiskey.

Tony takes a large gulp of his. “Whit, what are you doing here?” he asks again. His hand with the gauntlet flexes. “How did you know I’d be here?”

She rolls her eyes. “Can a girl not swing by to see an old friend?”

“We were hardly ever friends,” he says bitingly before finishing off his glass.

“There’s no need to be so bitter, Tony.”

“No one knows I’m here,” he says, “yet here _you_ are after nearly thirty years. Forgive my suspicion. I’ve had a lot of people try to kill me, I’m a bit paranoid.”

She sighs, brushing her hair aside. “I’ve had a long drive, Tony. Can we not catch up first, share a drink like old times?”

He shakes his head.

“You have a new toy don’t you?” she asks, taking slow strides across his living room. Her heels clicking against the hardwood and her fingers running across the petals of the hyacinth Pepper had left decorating the coffee table. She swirls the drink in her hand. “That Doctor Strange fella. Saw him in the papers escorting you outta the looney bin.”

Tony hides his flinch.

“Odd, really, seeing you hanging around someone so… normal. Where is Doctor Strange?” she asks.

“Out,” he answers shortly. He doesn’t take his eyes off of her. This doesn't feel right, none of this does. He feels off, disoriented by the very sight of her.

She walks towards him, her shoes noisy. She’s a predator, a serpent. She stops just a few inches short from Tony, leaving them standing nearly toe to toe. Her breath is hot against Tony’s cheeks as she speaks, leaving Tony dizzy. “That’s a shame,” she breathes.

Tony sucks in a sharp breath. His head feels clouded and foggy. His heart is hammering behind the reactor till it echoes in his ears.

Whitney leans in, resting her palm flat against his chest, blocking the glow of the reactor. She leans in until her lips connect with Tony’s, kissing him forcefully

He freezes.

“How was the drink?” she asks.

Tony’s head is absolutely spinning. She shoves him lightly with the palm she rests against his chest and he staggers, she takes a step back to watch him fall. He gasps as his knees lock up and he reaches blindly to steady himself against the bar, but it’s useless- he can’t grasp it. He falls to the floor and gasps for breath, the encased hand coming up defensibly and firing. He’s too dizzy to shoot straight and misses his target by a good several feet, blowing out a pane of glass that shatters and rains down. _She fucking drugged him. She put something in his drink._ How hadn’t he caught that?

Whitney curses and the blast leaves both their ears ringing. “There’ll be none of _that.”_ As he tries to stand, she shatters her whiskey glass against his forehead and jabs him in the sternum with her elbow, just below the reactor, before pinning his arm to the floor. She whips something from her pocket and forcefully stabs it into the palm of the gauntlet. It causes the tech to dim and die and become nothing other than useless armor. leaving Tony completely defenseless against her.

Tony bites out a cursed, _“fuck,” as_ glass cuts into the flesh around his eye. “The hell d’you wan’?” he asks. Blood pools into his vision, but his limbs will no longer respond as he wants them too- or at all. 

“I want the stone, Tony.”

He frowns. “Wha’ stone?”

“The one your witchy boyfriend has,” she says. “He was supposed to be here.” She paces, frustrated, running her hands through her hair. She pulls a gun from her pants, cocking it and leveling it at Tony with unwaveringly steady hands. “Where is Strange?” she asks.

Tony begins to laugh. “You ser’s?”

“The stone, Tony, where does he keep it?”

“Fuck you. Wha’ fuck'g sto’?”

“The green one!” She shouts, stepping closer.

Tony flinches and groans as the barrel of the gun rests against his forehead.

“The Time Stone, you idiot!” she growls. “Where does he keep it?”

Tony shakes his head. “I’ve n’idea.”

“Fuck,” Whitney curses. “He was supposed to fucking be _here!_ He told me he would be here.” She paces and curses up a storm, but Tony is too far gone to do anything.

He wonders why FRIDAY isn’t responding, why she hasn’t spoken or called Stephen, or even Maria or Carol. Someone! He feels a swell of worry for his machines.

“Who ‘r you work’g for?” he mutters. He’s slumped over in his drug-induced drowsiness, face mushed against the hardwood flooring.

“A valiant effort, Stark,” she said with an icy laugh. “You know, it’s sentiment that’s keeping me from killing you now.”

“Lucky me.”

She crouches down and runs her hands through his hair. Tony would flinch if his body was in the business of reacting properly. “Lucky you.” She rolls him so he’s lying flat on his back, looking up at her with blown pupils and hooded eyes.

“Is’ Doom, innit?” he slurs.

“Doom is only part of the equation, Stark,” she tells him. “I’m not a bad person-”

Tony snorts.

“I’m only doing my job.” She rises. “I’d really rather not see you dead, Tony. If your boyfriend had been here then we could have ended all of this here and now. If I were you, I’d really up the security. Or leave the country. The second time it won’t be just me, and Doom is far less sentimental. Far less forgiving. Besides, if I kill you now, then we’ll never find Strange and we’ll never find the stone.” She stuffs her gun back into the waistline of her pants. “The drug will wear off in a few hours, just let it run its course.”

Tony watches her go, gasping uselessly like a beached fish desperate for air. His ears are deafened by his own labored breaths and the whirl of the reactor in his chest. Blood coats his left eye, drying and caking around his face. His head pounds. It’s not important, the drug runs through his system and he is out could before he hears the convertible peel down the drive in the dead of night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay, seriously, thoughts? I really wanna hear from you guy.
> 
> Side note: I began this before I saw Infinity War, and I had the idea with the stones already in mind. After seeing IW, i'm shooketh and my head is swimming with ideas. But also expect me to ignore some parts of what the stones can do. Everything I know about them comes from the MCU, so I'll probably take a bit from that and take a lot from my own imagination and other older fics I've read. Remember, this is AU post-CW (also ignoring Iron Man 3), so don't be surprised if I borrow a bit from the newer movies but ignore a LOT of canon.


	5. I Only Wear Black

When Tony comes to, it is still dark outside the windows. Nothing but black streams in through them and the only light source is the minibar and the waterfall by the stairs. The trickling of the water keeps Tony calm, keeps him from tipping over into a complete panic. It’s familiar, it’s _his_ \- the space and the panic _._ His mind is still foggy from the drug and it takes several more long minutes of laying across the cool floor with only the sound of his own labored breathing before Tony regains control of his faculties.

“FRIDAY,” he chokes. He coughs past the cotton in his mouth. There is blood caked across his cheek and practically sealing his eye shut. His hand aches beneath the gauntlet. The device she had stuck him with had pierced the armor - _his armor! -_ and into the palm of his hand. The appendage trembles and his fingers feel frightened to move. 

The AI doesn’t reply.

Tony rolls himself onto his stomach and attempts to get his legs beneath himself, but they lock up and collapse under his weight. He claws at the floor, pulling himself closer to the stairs. He needs to get to the lab, something is wrong with FRIDAY, he needs to check her servers, she should be responding, she should be doing something.

He groans and the device piercing his hand gets jammed further. “Fuck.” He manages to sit up and he grits his teeth hard, his jaw shut tight, and gets a firm grip around the piece of tech. He yanks it hard, hating the squelching sound of his own flesh tearing. He bites down on a cry of pain. It hurts like hell but he’s had far worse.

He tries once more to stand, this time with better success. _I’m gonna fall down the fucking stairs._ His legs feel like gelatin, but he’s Tony fucking Stark. He can manage.

 

_‘Doom is only part of the equation, Stark.’_

_‘I want the stone, Tony.’_

_‘Where’s Strange?’_

Once he’s in the garage (the journey taking far longer than it should) he stumbles closer to FRIDAY’s servers, panting. She’s been shut down, he imagines with one of the same devices Frost had stuck him with. Some kind of specialized EMP. He restarts FRIDAY and lets out a massive sigh of relief as the soft whirl of her servers kick back on.

“Fri, you there?” he asks shakily.

“I’m sorry I ever left, Boss.”

He releases a heavy sigh, slumping against the wall, smearing it with his own red handprint. “Makes two of us.”

“Would you like me to run diagnostics on the property?” she asks.

“Yeah, go ahead.” He lowers himself down into his desk chair and runs his palm over the reactor. He still feels light and unbalanced. “If-” he swallows, his mouth still tasting full of cotton, “check for any security breaches. I want to know _exactly_ how she got to you without either of us knowing.”

“I’m on it, Boss.”

Tony startles as he hears a shout from upstairs, followed soon after by a succession of quick footfalls on the stairs. “Tony!” Stephen runs to the mechanic’s side. “Christ. FRIDAY said you were attacked.” His hands flutter over Tony before coming to rest on Tony’s cheek. He wipes blood from Tony’s eyes with his thumb. “What happened?” he asks. His voice is solid and cold with that dangerous mix of fear and anger.

“Whitney Frost.”

“Who?”

“Old school fling.” He watches Stephen conjure the first aid kit. “Bad breakup.”

“Jesus, Tony.”

“I’m fine.” His voice cracks. Stephen’s cloak wraps itself partially around Tony’s shoulders like a shock blanket and the mechanic reaches out to grasp at Stephen’s chest, clinging tight to his tunic. “I’m okay.”

Stephen grabs the tweezers and begins to pluck small shards of glass from the flesh surrounding Tony’s eye. “You are lucky to have an eye, Tony,” he says. “What happened?”

“Smashed a whiskey glass over my head. I fired at her, but she disabled the gauntlet.”

“Who was she?”

“Her name’s Whitney Frost, or, it was,” he says. “That’s what she went by back in the day. She was born Kristine Nefaria. Her dad’s some Sicilian Count. They’re a mob family down there, shady as they come.”

“Seriously?”

The sound of glass shards against the metallic desktop grates on Tony’s ears.

“Yeah, sounds completely insane,” he says. “We met in boarding school.”

“Why’d she change her name to Whitney?”

Tony shrugs. “Daddy didn’t want her being recognized, I guess.”

Stephen rolls his eyes. “Old money people are weird.”

Tony barks a laugh.

“Let me see your hand.”

Tony pries the unresponsive gauntlet from his hand and tosses it aside. “It’s fine.”

“This is a puncture wound going half way through your hand.”

Tony rolls his eyes.

“Just give me your hand,” he tells Tony.

Tony knows whatever tragedy he witnessed in his premonition is sitting at the forefront of Stephen’s mind. “I’m fine, Stephen. I’ve had much worse," he says, but he still allows the man to wrap his hand in gauze. "I need to get to work, they’ll be coming back,” he tells him. “And next time I don't think we'll get off so easy. We have to be ready."

“Should we leave?” he asks.

Tony shakes his head. “Maybe. I don’t intend to run from them.” As Stephen finishes wrapping his hand and plastering a bandage over his brow, Tony pushes himself to his feet. “I intend to be prepared and to beat them. We know what they want, we have leverage.”

Stephen hums. “Do we?”

“She said ‘he’ told her you would be here. Assuming she meant Doom.” Tony waves a hand at him. “They’re after than stone, the green one in that necklace you’re always fucking with.”

“The Eye of Agamotto.”

“Yeah, that.” Tony sighs and rolls his eyes. “What we’re supposed to do with that, who knows?” He picks up a soldering iron and fiddles with it. “I’ll build, you do whatever you do.”

“Sorcery?”

“Yeah. Go practice your magic and then maybe,” he wiggles his brows at Stephen and sways his hips, “later, you can use some of that magic under the sheets.”

“Are you flirting with me right now?” Stephen asks, bewildered. “Right after I pried glass from your face and you tell me someone’s trying to kill me and take the Time Stone?”

Tony shrugs. “What did you expect? Give it to me straight, doc, how long do I have to live?”

“The better half of a minute if you keep this up.”

Tony chuckles but it's all shape edges and brutal lines. “I need to build, Stephen,” he says.

“Or, and here’s a suggestion for you, just ballparking, let me know your thoughts: we go to bed, we figure this out in the morning and solve it by noon, and then we curl up on the sofa and watch _the Sound of Music.”_ He looks at Tony fondly but expectantly. “It feels more romantic than leaving you down here alone to sing along to Robert Palmer and blow yourself up.”

Tony wets his lips. He wants to say yes to Stephen so badly. it would be so easy, it's such a simple word: _yes._ “I need to build.”

Stephen sighs and comes up to give Tony a kiss, taking his face in his hands so gently, like Tony is something precious that needs to be kept safe. “It is the middle of the night. Come to bed.”

Tony won’t deny that he’s exhausted, his head pounds and he still feels a tad dizzy from the blow and the drugs. He want's to sleep, but there is a weight that has settled over his shoulders that bears down on him punishingly. He asks softly, “Will there be magic in bed?”

“Only because you’re injured and I pity you.”  _I love you._

Tony laughs, the smile just reaching his eyes. “Okay.” He lets Stephen take him by the hand. “C’mon, Sparky.” Tony kisses him warmly and pulls Stephen up the stairs with him.

They climb into bed and Tony climbs onto Stephen tenderly. The other man is so careful with Tony. They kiss deeply and Tony pries Stephen’s shirt over his head before tossing his own t-shirt aside. The reactor glows brightly in the space between them. “Alright, Merlin, where are my magic tricks?”

Stephen quirks a brow. “I can do some card tricks.”

“Not exactly what I had in mind,” Tony mutters before deepening their kiss. Stephen moans and it’s music to Tony’s ears. He doesn’t want to think about the impending danger on their lives, not right now. He just wants to forget for a few minutes. “Now get your pants off.”

Stephen chuckles, but he complies. He shimmies his jeans off and throws them aside.

Tony sucks on the sorcerer’s lip and rocks his hips, earning a gasp.

“Tony,” he moans. “Get your pants _off.”_

The mechanic chuckles. “Alright, alright. Bossy.”

“If you call me ‘daddy’ again, I will walk right out of this room.”

Tony's brows make a run for his hairline. “You wouldn’t dare.” He only said it to get Stephen to stop baby talking him. He wasn't in the mood for lovey-dovey, he just wanted, like he does now, for Stephen to fuck him. Is that so much to ask?

  
“Try me, Stark.”

It’s not long before the two of them are a sweaty and incoherent mess of limbs and moans. Tony lets Stephen do as he pleases, riding the high of pleasure that is greater than any substance he has ever gotten his hands on. By the end of it, Doom is the furthest thing from his mind.

Tony lays beside the sorcerer and the sheets pooled around their ankles. He hums and runs a hand through his sweat-dampened hair.

Stephen swipes his own hair from his eyes and grins at Tony. “Is this your card?”

Tony looks at him and sees a genuine fucking ace of clubs held between his fingers. He can’t hold back the laughter that bubbles from deep within his chest. “You are fucking unbelievable.”

Stephen laughs and the card vanishes. “How’s your head?” he asks.

“Feels fine.”

“The hand?”

“A little stiff.”

Stephen hums, running his finger over the back of Tony's hand featherlight. “It will remain so for a few days.”

Tony rolls over and pulls Stephen closer to him. “Go to sleep, big spoon.”

“What?”

“Shh.”

The moment Stephen’s eyes fall shut and his breathing slows and evens out, Tony is out of the room and in the lab. He needs to build; he needs to protect the things, the people, he cannot live without.

 

* * *

 

Stephen follows closely behind Tony, watching him march with surprisingly long strides, dressed in his sharpest suit. Stephen feels the comfortable weight of the cloak over his shoulders. He shortens his strides so as to not outpace Tony.

“Fri, where _is_ Maria?” he hears Tony ask into his earpiece. He doesn’t hear the AI’s response. Tony leads them past the lounge and they find the woman in question in one of the small kitchens, frowning sharply at the coffee maker as it gurgles. “Hill!” Tony greets her with a bright smile. “We have a problem. A very _real_ problem, as in magic and destruction and impending doom.”

“So… Doom?” she asks.

Tony nods. “Yes, that pun was unintentional.”

“It wasn’t really a _pun,”_ Stephen starts to say before Tony silences him.

“Shh, enough from you!”

“Is Doom what happened to your face?” she ventures.

“I have FRIDAY gathering the team,” he says. “I want everyone in the lounge in thirty minutes.”

She nods. “Do you need anything from me, Boss?”

“Not yet, but I’ll keep you posted.”

“Alright.”

“In the meantime,” he looks to Stephen. “Can you grab Pep? She’s at the office.”

“Of course,” Stephen promises. He vanishes and appears in Pepper Pott’s Manhattan office in a blink.

The strawberry blonde startles, dropping her pen and looking at Stephen with wide eyes. “You have _got_ to stop doing that,” she says, brushing her bangs back into place.

“My apologies.”

“Aren’t you supposed to make portals in order to just show up here?” she asks.

Stephen smiles. “I’ve learned to do without them. Still need them if I’m bringing guests along, but." He shrugs. "Tony asked that I retrieve you.”

“For?”

“He’s briefing the Avengers on our current status in regards to the threat that Doctor Victor von Doom poses.”

“Doom? The one that threw Tony from the Municipal building last year?”

“Yes.”

Pepper swallows. “He’s back?”

“He is, and he has threatened both my own life and Tony’s,” he says. “While I’m not exactly concerned for my own safety, a woman did break into our home last night and attack Tony, so-”

“You were attacked?”

“Tony was,” he corrects. “I was the intended target, but I was not home.” He cannot fight the wave of guilt that statement brings with it.

Pepper steps out from behind her desk and pulls Stephen into a tight hug. It startles him, more so than he would like to admit. He isn’t used to this… affection. He has grown used to, and welcomes, Tony’s advances, but Tony has become the exception to much of what Stephen calls normal. “You’re okay?” she asks.

“Yes, of course,” he says stiffly.

“And Tony?”

“Perfectly fine, as you’ll see if you care to accompany me back to the base.”

Pepper purses her lips and grabs her cell phone and pocketing it. “Oh, I’ll accompany you. I’ll accompany my foot right up Tony’s ass,” she mutters and steps through Stephen’s portal, bringing the two of them back to the compound’s kitchen.

Tony is pacing, tapping excessively at his phone and muttering into his earpiece.

“Tony Stark!” Pepper barres directly into the billionaire, wrapping him in a tight hug.

Tony quickly returns the embrace, pulling her close. Stephen often admires how easily he shows affection, even if Tony would disagree. “Pep, hey, I’m alright. It’s just a few scratches. Steph-o patched me up all good. Hand’s a bit stiff, but I’ll be fine.”

She takes his face in her hands and inspects it closely. “You’ll be the death of me. Why did they come after you?” Pepper asks.

“Because I go where he goes,” Tony says, nodding Stephen’s way. “They assumed if I was home, then Stephen must be too.”

“But how would Doom know that?” Pepper

“We haven’t been very subtle about our clinginess, Pep.” Tony shrugs. “How they knew we were in Malibu? Different story.” He wraps his fingers against the reactor. “No one knew that we had left New York but we weren’t accounting for magic.”

“If Doom really is a sorcerer,” Stephen says, “there are numerous ways he could divine my location, and if he is looking into me then he’s found that I’m in a relationship with Tony. Like he said, we don’t keep our affairs very quiet. I’m relatively certain we’ve been spotted making out in Central Park on _several_ occasions.”

“Hell yeah.” Tony holds his hand out, palm up, for a high five, Stephen happily complies. “We’re so in love we finish each other…”

“Off.”

Tony chokes on a surprised laugh, but he grins at Stephen like he’s the greatest thing he’s ever seen.

Pepper looks between the two of them as if she cannot believe that they’re real, that this is her life, and, yeah, okay, that’s warranted. But Stephen is still a bit offended by the implication.

Tony, still grinning, says, “I apologize for my fiancé.”

Pepper rolls her eyes. “The two of you are horrible for my health.”

“We’re a disease.”

“Parasites, really,” Stephen says. “You should see a doctor. For now, I have these-” he holds up his hand, showing a thin gold ring that sits on his middle finger. Tony wears its twin.

“What are those?” Pepper asks suspiciously.

Tony rolls his eyes. “Unfortunately, not what you’re thinking.”

“They mask our location,” Stephen explains. “They’re enchanted and I’ve placed protection wards on them as well. They'll keep us hidden and safe. I did the same for the stone.”

“Tony.” Maria pops her head in. “The team’s in the lounge. We’re ready when you are.”

“Why did you want me for this?” Pepper asks.

“Keeps me from repeating myself,” Tony says. “You’re a de facto member of the team, you may as well be here. Technically, SI is yours, making _you_ the team’s benefactor.”

Pepper looks at him appreciatively. She wrings her hands out of stress. Stephen thinks maybe he should comfort her, assure her that everything would be okay, but he thinks he’ll only make it worse. He feels relieved when Tony reaches out and runs a hand down her back, pulling her in for a tight hug, her head falling on his shoulder, ponytail swishing elegantly.

 

* * *

 

“The stone is one of the most powerful objects in the universe,” Stephen explains, “and Doom wants it.”

“What’s it do?” Clint asks, leaning in, elbows resting on his knees.

“The one that I have is the Time Stone. The sorcerer’s at Kamar-Taj have had it in their possession for decades. I used it two years ago to bargain with Dormammu.”

“Who?” Maria asks.

“Dormammu. He is a primordial, interdimensional entity who wields apocalyptic levels of supernatural power and ruler of the Dark Dimension.”

Clint makes a sound in the back of his throat. “Oh. Right. Silly question.”

“And how did that work?” Maria asks.

“He’s essentially a space god with the intellect of an exceptionally dim child,” Stephen says with a shrug. “It was actually quite simple, I trapped him in a time loop using the stone and allowed him to kill me thousands of times until he grew annoyed.”

“Cool, cool,” Clint breathes.

“What Doom could do with this stone is unimaginable,” Stephen continues. “We should sooner destroy it than allow anyone with ill intent to get their hands on it.”

“So we destroy it then,” Tony says.

“I won’t allow that,” Stephen argues. “It’s my duty to protect the stone, I can’t allow it to be destroyed.”

“You just said that was our better bet,” Tony says. His brow twitches and he folds his arms.

Clint rolls his eyes. “Yeah, what the hell?”

“Do we even know if it _can_ be destroyed?” Pepper asks.

There’s a beat that passes over them before Tony admits that, “no, we don’t.”

“And more importantly,” Stephen says sternly, “we aren’t going to try. I’ve enchanted it; it is protected.”

Tony huffs and begins to pace. He’s never been one to rely on magic and spells.

“Our concern now should be in finding and apprehending Doom,” Stephen says.

“I agree,” Wanda says.

“If he knows that _I_ have the Time Stone, then he likely knows about the others. Including the one currently giving Vision sentience.”

Wanda blanches, reaching out and taking Vision by the hand.

“And the Tesseract,” Tony adds.

Stephen nods. “You no longer have the Tesseract, correct?”

Maria shakes her head. “Thor left with it,” she says. “It should be on Asgard.”

“Any way of getting in contact with Thor?” Stephen asks.

Tony shakes his head. “Nah, Thunderboy’s been MIA for months. We’d have better luck finding his psychotic brother than Blondie.”

“Adopted brother,” Clint amends.

Toy nods. “Adopted brother.”

“I’ll work on finding him,” Stephen says. “I should be alerted if any magical beings enter Earth’s… realm.”

“Then why can’t you track Doom?” Bobbi asks.

Stephen wets his lips. “He’s being masked,” he explains. “Somehow, I’m not sure. There are several tactics he could use to mask his location.”

The agent nods. “Fine, so we have two stones. Let’s hope that’s more than whoever’s looking for them.”

Tony nods. “We could have zero stones,” he says, “if you would destroy it.”

“And Vision too?” Wanda asks scathingly.

Vision squeezes her hand. “Wanda-”

“That’s not what I meant,” Tony backtracks. “Look, we don’t even know what Doom wants the damn thing for,” he says. “We have no idea how this works. We’re going in blind unless we can find the big guy. Thor’s got to know more about space gems than any of us.”

“And if he doesn’t?” Maria asks. “We need our own plan, one that doesn't rely on tracking a thunder god across an entire universe.”

“Agreed,” Tony says. “Which is why we should destroy the Time Stone.”

Stephen rolls his eyes. “Tony-”

“Look, that thing is dangerous,” he argues, pointing at the gem as it rests in the Eye around Stephen’s neck. “We don’t know what it could di if it winds up in the wrong hands. Best to just keep it out of any hands.”

“And what then when we are outmatched by a new threat?” Stephen asks.

“Then we handle it like we always do,” he says, _“without_ magic cheat codes.”

Wanda shakes her head. “I agree with Doctor Strange,” she says. “We cannot destroy them.”

“We’ve done just fine in the past with weapons and tech,” Clint reasons. “We can handle Doctor Doom without it. If the stones are gone then there’s nothing for him to fight for, yeah?”

“We are not destroying anything,” Maria objects. “The Mind Stone, or whatever, is in Vision, it _is_ Vision, so it stays. End of discussion. Strange says he can protect the Time Stone, then he can protect it. New plan.”

Tony groans and rolls his eyes theatrically. “Fine, okay- _fine._ Any bright ideas then? Anyone? Don’t hold back, please.”

“We can assume Doom is working for someone else,” Hill says. “Right?”

“It can be assumed,” Tony agrees. “He’s never been the brains of the operation. Given, we’ve never had very much intel on him, period. His tech has always been lacking, but I’d give the guy points for creativity.”

“Okay, so, we focus on finding Doom before he finds us,” she says. “Strange says he’s blocked, so-”

“I’ll get FRIDAY on it,” Tony says. “She’s been checking the major cities, but I’ll expand the radius.”

Maria nods. “Good. Strange, find Thor.”

He opens his mouth to explain that that may take some time. If the Asgardian is off planet, it may even be impossible. The Agent isn’t overly interested in hearing it.

“Carol is out of town and Tony is injured, that means I’m taking point on this,” she says commandingly. “I don’t want anything other than a ‘yes, ma’am’ from you, Strange.”

The doctor nods. “I’ll do my best.”

She nods. “The rest of you,” she says, “stay vigilant. I want you ready to be suited and armed at all times. Make sure the jets are fueled. If Doom or Frost find us first I want them apprehended and in custody in five.”

There’s a chorus of ‘yes’’s and nodding heads.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> slightly dialogue heavy, but the real good shit is coming!


	6. Take It Very Far

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, all! I want to just thank all of you that are still here. You’re all the best and the sweetest and I love you!

Stephen keeps his eyes open for Thor, FRIDAY searches for Doom and Frost, and Tony builds and builds and builds until his fingers are sore and joints are tired. Things are relatively normal, considering the impending doom that lurks over them. The threat takes a backseat in the monotony of day to day life.

They head back to New York, seeing as hiding in Malibu is somewhat of a lost cause. So they go back to New York and go back to carrying on with their lives. Tony builds and he helps Pepper with SI. He has board meetings, ones that require him rather than just Pepper. For all that Pepper is the CEO, the men in suits still want to hear some things right from a Stark’s mouth. It’s annoying to Tony and Pepper both.

Tony doesn’t pay much attention where he doesn’t have to. His mind is preoccupied and too full of _everything._ The board is used to it, Tony suspects at least half of them think he’s totally lost it and the rest just see him as their eccentric boss/legally not-boss that’s teetering on totally losing it. He’s started his new meds, Vistaril, or whatever, it’s not bad. Doesn’t keep him so out of it like the old stuff had. He’s feeling better. Stephen helps, but Pepper had sat him down and explained that love isn’t a miracle cure-all. So he’s on the pills and he’s on the Stephen Strange treatment. He likes the Stephen treatment. It’s far more fun and leaves his chest feeling hollowed out in a fluttering sort of a good way.

He’s trying not to fall asleep during the morning's meeting, but he is exhausted and businessmen (and women, he’s not discriminating here) are boring as hell. Probably the least interesting breed of human, he thinks. Right after professional polo players- Tony knew some once (downside of growing up in the Hamptons surrounded by old money), the worst conversation holders. They’re just playing golf on a horse, anyhow! How long could someone possibly drone on about horse golf?

Pepper is eyeing him with a sharp mix of disapproval and mild concern. He hasn't been sleeping and Pepper can read him like a book. She probably asked FRIDAY how much sleep he got last night and everything. The answer is none, by the way, but Pepper didn't need to know that. She does though, know that, if her narrowed eyes are any indication.

He’s just leaving SI, his tie loose and his vest and jacket unbuttoned, and when he looks up from his phone he sees a welcomed face. He smiles. “What are you doing here?”

“Thought you might be hungry,” Stephen says.

“You read my mind.” Tony loops his arm in with Stephen’s and lets the sorcerer lead them out the door. “What are you up for?” he asks. “That food truck you like is still in Central Park? How are we feeling about tacos?”

“I could go for tacos,” Stephen agrees.

Tony nods and taps an erratic rhythm against the reactor. They walk uptown towards the park, chatting contentedly. Tony tries to stay relaxed, to remind himself that everything is fine, but he can’t ignore his anxiety. There’s a threat that looms over them and Tony is having a hard time looking past that.

“We should go on vacation,” Tony suggests as they stroll, tacos in both their hands.

Stephen looks at him oddly.

“Seriously,” he says, chewing the rest of his last taco, shell crunching loudly. “Doom’ll have a hell of a time trying to track us across Asia.” He licks his thumb clean of melted cheese. Who puts nacho cheese on tacos? Geniuses, that’s who. God, Tony loves food trucks.

Stephen balls up his wrapper and sighs. “Tony-” he falls short as they watch the park around them begin to grow dark. Heavy clouds come to surround them and create a dark overcast at a supernatural pace. The citizens that litter the park all stop to gawk at the sky, all standing with their mouths half open at the sight. There’s a dog barking. “Um. Not good?”

Tony watches the dark clouds turn shades of red and blue and pink and something distinctly unnatural. “Not good.” He taps the reactor and sees Stephen take a step back, the suit expanding from the device and growing into a protective shell casing around him.

Stephen raises a brow. “When did _this_ happen?”

Tony looks at him from behind the blank eyes of the Iron Man suit. “What?”

Stephen waves a hand up and down at Tony, eyes all wide.

“Last week.”

Stephen nods absently. “I clearly need to be keeping a closer eye on you.”

The sky begins to illuminate, lightning crackling across the underbelly of the clouds like fracturing porcelain. It reminds Tony of when he was eight and he broke one of his mother’s fine china plates. The gauntlets of Tony’s suit begin to heat up and Tony takes a defensive position, he’s aware of Stephen doing the same beside him. He wonders where the sorcerer’s cloak apparated from, but he’s learnt not to question that thing and its mind of its own.

There is a sudden and loud clap of thunder, and the space around them feels electrified moments before the park is washed in a static blue light of lightning. The lampposts spark, glass shattering, car alarms sound off, people scream and instinctually duck, some begin to scatter, and several buildings seem to lose power.

The sky begins to part in a swarming wormhole before a strong beam of light comes pouring down and collides with the ground. There’s an impact -- something’s landed. Tony can’t make it out through the sudden darkness and fog and dirt until the clouds’ bright glow fades, thunder claps, and rain begins to poor.

“I found Thor,” Stephen chimes. His cloak shakes itself of rainwater and looks thoroughly annoyed by the weather.

Tony blinks and curses. “You have got to be fucking kidding me.” His helmet retracts, clicking out of place and folding in on itself rapidly until it recompacts itself into the rest of the suit, each nanobot repurposing itself. Tony cups his hands around his mouth and shouts, “Hey, big guy!” He jogs up to the Asgardian who stands somewhat dazedly in a patch of scorched earth, watching citizens hesitate between retreating and approaching the hero.

The blonde turns to Tony and he breaks out into a huge grin. “Man of Iron!” He approaches with wide arms and happily wraps Tony is a tight hug, lifting the mechanic clear off of his feet. “It is good to see you, I have much to tell our friends of my travels!”

Tony gasps and once Thor places him back on his feet he shoots the Asgardian a sharp look. “Yeah? You can start with what’s brought you here,” Tony says, eyeing the guy’s complex braids and weird space god updo. “Looking good, Stretch Armstrong. It’s good to see you too-- we’ve been looking for you.”

“Have you?” He frowns for a moment, an expression that Tony has always thought looks out of place on the guy before he smiles again. “I am here now,” he says. “What is it that you require of me? I am more than happy to aid you, Stark,” he tells him. “Although, if you needed me you could have called.”

“You don’t have a phone,” Stephen says.

“No,” Thor says, “I don’t have a phone, but you could have sent an electronic letter. They’re called an email,” he says knowingly.

Tony frowns.

“Yeah, do you have a computer?” Stephen asks.

“No, what for?”

Stephen hums. “Uh uh.”

“Who is this?” Thor smiles at Stephen with a small crease of curiosity between in brows. It is not an unkind expression, but one of a man who has seen much hardship as of recently and has more than enough reason to be hesitant of new people.

“Doctor Stephen Strange.” Stephen offers his hand and Thor shakes.

“Earth has wizards now?” he asks, eyeing Stephen’s outfit and the faint traces of magic that still linger around his fingertips.

Tony snorts. “Sure do.”

“I prefer Master of the Mystic Arts,” Stephen corrects deafly.

“What are you doing here?” Tony asks.

“I came in search of my brother,” Thor says.

Tony’s brows make a chase for his hairline. “Your brother. About yay high, pissed off, likes to stab -- _that brother?”_

Thor looks sheepish, a feat in and of itself for a guy of his stature. “Yes.”

Tony groans. “Great! Yeah, woohoo! That’s exactly what we need.” Tony runs his hands through his hair. “Why did I become Director?” he muses to himself. “Can I quit? I should retire.”

“Hold on just one second,” Stephen interjects. “If Loki Laufeyson were on Earth, I would know.” Nevermind that he hasn’t been able to find Doom.

“Is that so?” Thor asks. He doesn’t sound very confident in Stephen which has the sorcerer narrowing his eyes. “Loki has always been a master magic wielder. You may call yourself master of whatever you like, but I assure you Loki is not to be underestimated. There are many ways he could hide himself. Heimdall cannot see him, I doubt that you could find him so easily with your spells,” Thor chuckles. He sounds like he is speaking from experience, Tony thinks.

Stephen bristles and purses his lips. Tony pats him on the arm.

“Any chance your brother would team up with another crackpot Earth villain?” Tony asks.

Thor shrugs his broad shoulders. “It is possible. He has done so before,” he explains. “Loki would not pass up an opportunity to spite me. Why do you ask?”

“We’re having a small evil-magician problem ourselves,” he says.

Thor nods thoughtfully and looks unsurprised. “It is likely my brother would associate himself with your Midgardian wizards if he thought it would benefit him or bring harm to myself. Or be cause for general chaos.”

Tony rolls his eyes. “Great. That’s perfect. Psycho magician tag team. I love my job.” He sighs. “Well, big guy, it looks like our goals are aligned. You’ve come to the right place. I’ve got the sinking feeling that if we find our guy, you’ll find yours.”

“Hold tight to your… selves,” Stephen says.

In a blink, the three of them are standing in the middle of the Avengers compound. They appear on the southwest balcony, rain drizzling down on them. Thor stumbles and nearly drops his hammer, looking thoroughly dazed and off balanced. Tony just reaches out and steadies himself on the unfazed sorcerer’s arm, feeling a little nauseous. Tony swallows thickly and blinks through it, his stomach rolling.

Stephen is the first to open the sliding door and Tony looks at the Asgardian. “I hate magic.”

Thor brushes his hair behind his ears and composes himself. “It is most… jarring.”

Tony snorts and chases after the magic man. “Hey, Strange!”

“If Loki really is working with Doom then it may be far more difficult to find them than we anticipated,” Stephen says. He’s conjured some old text and is quickly scanning through its yellowed pages.

"Or easier," Tony says with a shrug.

“My brother is a known criminal in this realm,” Thor says, “I should like to find him before your SHIELD does.”

Tony snorts. “No need to worry about that.”

Thor looks at him inquisitively but is cut off by Stephen loudly shutting his book causing the both of them to jump. It vanishes moments later.

“Have you had any luck with FRIDAY?” he asks Tony. He looks agitated.

Tony shakes his head. “Nothing. Look, it’s fine, we’ll find them, or Doom will find us. He does kind of want you dead, so, there’s that.”

“This Earth wizard wants this other Earth wizard dead?” Thor asks, gesturing at Strange like he has already forgotten his name.

Tony laughs. “Actually, big guy, that's the reason we've been looking for you. Doom, the… Earth wizard, wants these stones-”

“Stones?”

“Yeah, Stephen has a little about them written up in the old sorcerer’s texts, but we don’t really know what they are still. They're magic, obviously, but that's all we're working with. Stephen’s got a green one, there’s a yellow one in Vis’s head, and I guess the Tesseract was one-”

“You have the Time Stone?” Thor asks Stephen. He’s all stone serious and severe and it startles Tony.

Stephen conjures the Eye of Agamotto, holding it tight in both his hands but consciously away from Thor’s grasp. The stone’s green glow is strong. “The sorcerer’s of Kamar-Taj have had it for decades,” he tells Thor. “I’m sworn to protect it and I will not allow Doom nor your brother to take it.” Nor will he relinquish it to Thor, Tony knows.

Tony isn’t sure what the hell is going on here as he watches Thor and Stephen size each other up, but it’s simultaneously the stupidest and maybe the hottest thing he’s ever seen. “Alright,” he interjects, drawing both of their attention. “So, anyway, we have some stones and Doom wants them. Any ideas?” he asks Thor.

Thor hums. “You have two of the Infinity Stones,” he tells them. “It is quite dangerous to have two in such close proximity.”

“Dangerous how?” Tony asks.

“There are many across the universe, and beyond it, that would stop at nothing to have possession of any one of these stones,” Thor tells them. “You have the Time Stone, and what other color did you say?”

“Yellow.”

“The Mind Stone.”

“Yeah, that's what Stephen's books call it. Makes sense. It’s what’s giving Vision life,” Tony says.

“I trust that you have seen this stone’s powers first hand?” he asks Stephen.

Stephen nods. “I’ve used it, yes.”

Tony thinks of Dormammu and his stomach turns.

“Then you understand what it is capable of,” Thor tells him. “Many dangerous people would do wrong with these stones.”

“That is why I protect it,” Stephen says. “I cannot allow it to fall into the wrong hands.”

Thor nods. “Then I wish you well in this.”

Stephen dips his chin.

“Can you two stop being weird?” Tony asks. “So you think Loki would be going after these stones?”

“Most likely,” he says. “He had possession of the Mind Stone and Space Stone once before, during the invasion he led on your New York.”

Tony tenses and crosses his arms over his chest. Thoughts of portals and the vastness of open space fill his head and his chest tightens.

“His scepter possessed the Mind Stone and the tesseract was the Space Stone, I believe. Loki has always been far more versed in these subjects,” he says. “The Mind Stone was said to enhance the intelligence of its wielder. I am unfamiliar with the full capabilities of the Space Stone.”

“Space Stone?” The name alone gives Tony a spike of anxiety.

“Their powers are unmatched, you’ve seen as much during the invasion.”

Tony nods.

He nods at Stephen. “And as you have likely seen as well with the Time Stone.”

“I used it to best Dormammu.”

Thor raises a brow. “The primordial, interdimensional entity who wields apocalyptic levels of supernatural power and ruler of the Dark Dimension?”

Stephen bows his head. “That would be the one.”

Thor grins. “I am impressed, Earth wizard.” He claps Stephen on the back, jostling him and drawing an annoyed look.

Tony snorts and shakes his head of the thoughts of space gods and of a black vastness. “Well, we still don’t know where Doom is — or Frost or Loki.”

“Then we continue to look.”

Thor’s face scrunches up in displeasure. “You suggest we simply wait?”

“The kids are here, you could relax for a few days,” Stephen suggests.

Tony rolls his eyes with a small scoff. “I’ve _been_ relaxed-”

“Tony, you have hardly left your shop all week.”

Tony knows he’s right. It took Stephen and Pepper both to drag him into the office this morning. He has been building, can he be blamed for that? He sighs. He supposes Stephen has a point, the kids _are_ here. It’s a Friday, they’ve taken to gathering on Fridays -- it’s becoming predictable. So he relents: “Yeah, fine.” Stephen moves the three of them to the lounge in a blink, leaving he and Thor both disoriented and off balance all over again. Tony stumbles and Thor curses.

“We could have walked,” Thor mutters.

“Mister Stark!” Peter flips over the back of the sofa and comes up short before the three of them. “You guys came.” He sounds so thrilled and it sends a wave of warmth through Tony. He feels his cheeks stretch with a smile unbidden.

Tony taps the reactor and suit begins to retract from his frame, folding in on itself, each nanobot compacting itself back into the casing of the reactor. “Yeah, we skipped town for a few days. Small crises, it’s been averted.” Temporarily. “No worries.”

Peter looks concerned. “What happened to your hand?” he asks, eyeing the stark white bandage.

“Lab accident,” Tony lies. “Seriously, don’t worry. Have you met Thor?”

Peter seems to just realize the Asgardians presence. “Oh, whoa! Hi- um, mister, uh, Thor- Sir. I’m Peter Parker- Spider-Man.”

“This is your son?” he asks of Tony, eyeing Tony and Peter both in his search for similarities.

“Do- why does everyone keep assuming that?” Tony stammers. “I feel like people would know if I had a sixteen-year-old son running around.”

Peter looks flustered, a little red in the cheeks, but he doesn’t seem bothered by the insinuation -- and _that’s_ something Tony does not want to spend too much time thinking on.

“No, Thor, he’s not mine,” Tony tells him with a shrug. He’s started growing used to the assumption. “Big guy, you gonna stick with the cape all night? Take an evening, Thor. Stephen’s right, we’ll find Loki in the morning. He’s not going anywhere.”

Tony isn’t sure what has him acting so complacent with Stephen’s wishes all of a sudden. Maybe it’s the way Peter’s asking him if he’ll play a round on their video game like it’s the only thing he’s ever wanted in his life. Or maybe it’s due to Clint’s whoops of laughter as he listens to something stupid that Kate tells him. Maybe it’s because of the easy way that Peter rolls his eyes at him and rejoins MJ and Ned’s discussion about something that only teenagers can find concern over. He’s a sucker for the relaxed atmosphere of these Friday nights at the compound. He’s never been so… laidback before. He’s never felt this welcome before. Maria and Bobbi will be here later, Wanda and Vis should show up too. Rhodey comes by when he’s in town and Pepper stops in when she has the time. This is his team- this is his family.

Isn’s that a crazy thought?

It leaves him feeling a little winded.

Thor nods at Tony’s words but he doesn’t look too convinced.

Stephen rolls his eyes and suddenly Thor is lacking his cape and armor, dressed in denim and a white shirt. He looks startled and frowns sharply at the sorcerer who is now lacking the magical getup himself, trading cloak and robes for jeans and a sweatshirt. Thor looks annoyed but he gets over it quickly, Tony figures he’s used to the petty magic tricks having grown up with Loki as a brother.

“Perhaps you are on to something,” Thor allows.

“Relax, buddy. You just reentered the atmosphere, take a load off,” Tony says. “Stephen, get him a drink.”

There’s a sudden full stout of mead in the Asgardian’s hands. Thor grins. “Your tricks may have some use after all, Earth wizard.”

Tony laughs.

Stephen keeps Thor’s glass full throughout the evening and Tony begins to remember why he loves Thor so much. A drunk Asgardian is possibly Tony’s favorite sight. The vibrations of his booming laughter rumble through Tony’s chest. He laughs as the kids insist on trying to lift Thor’s hammer and Tony nearly blacks out as Peter gets the thing a good inch off the coffee table.

“Are you shitting me!?” he shouts. “I couldn’t get that thing to move an inch!”

Peter cackles and whoops and Michelle wraps him in a hug, lifting the teen off the ground as they cheer and laugh.

“Your son is a worthy hero, Man of Iron!” Thor booms.

“He’s not mine!” Tony squawks.

Tony plays Peter and his friends in their video games, he’s a little rusty, but he picks it up quick. He even wins a round. Clint finds endless amusement in his inability.

“Okay bird brain, if you’re so good at this, why don’t you give it a shot.”

Clint scoffs. “Please, I could kick your ass if I played with my feet.”

Bobbie snorts. “Yeah, as if. You can hardly even use google.”

Tony begins to really enjoy himself once Maria arrives, she’s the only real challenge he faces at poker. The two of them sweep the table with the rest of the team. They have a good evening and Tony lets himself be distracted, he lets himself forget, if only just for the evening, about the imminent danger. He lets himself have this.

Tony and Stephen end up staying the night.

Tony wakes as Stephen lifts him off the sofa. The lights are dim and the room is absent of its previous rambunxious chaotic noise. Popcorn is scattered about the carpet, there are soda cans on the coffee table, shoes left scattered, an abandoned sweatshirt slung over a foosball table, a purse left in the chair.

“Put me down,” Tony mumbled against Stephen’s shoulder.

“Unlikely,” Stephen says softly. “You’ve been passed out on the sofa for the past half hour. I was tempted to leave you there, but you’re too old to spend the night on the couch.”

Tony wants to disagree but he can’t manage to find the words, he’s too sleepy, and in a blink, he finds himself in their room. He doesn’t know if Stephen teleports them there or if he fell back asleep. All he knows is that he’s being lowered into their bed and covered with the welcomed weight of their comforter. He hums. “I love you,” he mumbles.

Stephen plants a kiss on the corner of his lips and slips under the sheets behind him, pulling him flat against his chest. “I love you too, Tony,” he tells him. “Thank you, for taking an evening.”

Tony grunts and the last thing he’s aware of before sleep takes him is of Stephen’s fingers sweeping the hair from his forehead and humming a soft lullaby.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thor’s back!! Thor’s back!!
> 
> Most of his and Stephen’s initial interaction is dialogue from Thor 3, because why change perfection?
> 
> If you have any questions or opinions or just wanna chat about IronStrange (DoctorMan) or anything, come visit me on tumblr at @broflovskys


	7. So Ease It Off

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> boom

It takes Tony a minute to realize what has woken him. He wakes with a start, not entirely uncommon, but usually chalked up to nightmares. He doesn’t remember any dreams. This is different. Something startles him awake and as he sits up with wide eyes and wild hair, he holds his breath between his teeth, but there’s nothing but silence. There’s a picture frame knocked over, lying face down on the dresser across the room. Tony can’t take his eyes from it.

He can feel it, the static electricity in the air. It’s only just sunup, the large windows showing the dewy morning of upstate.

And then it hits again.

The floor beneath him shakes and the foundation of the very building seems to tremble. There is a rumbling and Stephen sits up beside him with a jolt, blinking blearily. “Wha’s’it?”

There is a moment of silence; the world holding its breath.

There is nothing, and then there is everything.

Alarms sound deafeningly loud in the room. Red lights illuminate the room and FRIDAY speaks: “Boss, the compound is under attack.”

Tony and Stephen are already flying out of bed at this point, Tony throws the bedroom door open and sees similar red lights flashing through the halls. Stephen chases after him, already fully dressed and prepared for combat, cloak firmly over his shoulders

Tony curses and remembers Ned and Michelle are on base. “Get the kids out of here!” he tells Stephen.

The sorcerer nods and the next second he is gone.

“FRIDAY, what’s happening?” he asks, taping the reactor and letting the suit consume him in its protective shell. “And turn that damn alarm off!”

“Loki Laufeyson and Doctor Doom have infiltrated the compound,” she tells.

Tony rushes through the compound and finds the kids in the common room. Peter looks at him and the spider mask widen and adjust. “Mister Stark!”

“Morning, kid. Sleep well?”

Peter snorts a little breathlessly. “What’s happening?” he asks Tony. “The whole building shook.”

“Oh, you know, angry sorcerers. Loki tag teamed with Doctor Doom and now they want me and Stephen dead.” He shrugs. “You know. Normal stuff.”

“Explains why Thor took off,” Kate says, her bow clasped tightly in her hands and she extracts an arrow from her quiver. She and America Chavez are both half dressed, Kate in her shorts and a t-shirt, but she looks unbothered.

“He did what?” Tony asks.

America shrugs. “Yeah, he ran off outside-”

The kids scream and Tony leaps back as the room is suddenly filled with a plume of green smoke and Thor and Loki both are suddenly in the middle of the room, locked in combat. Loki has a dagger just inches from the thunder god’s throat but Thor holds him off with the hammer. Tony fires on instinct, catching the trickster in the side and sending him sprawling.

Loki snarls and picks himself up, he brushes his hair back into place and straightens his heavy leather coat. “If you would just _listen_ to me, you oaf!” he curses at Thor.

The ice in his voice sends a chill down Tony’s spine.

“Then speak faster, brother,” Thor commands, stalking towards him.

“Doom does not work alone!”

“Yeah, way to state the obvious, Tinkerbell,” Tony counters. “We know you’re with him.”

Loki barks a laugh and Tony takes a step back, he sees the kids do the same. Kate keeps her bow trained unyieldingly on the god, Peter and America take her flanks. It’s good teamwork, Tony would be proud if he weren’t so focused on the fucking demi-god in their fucking living room! He wonders where Doom is, then he wonders where Stephen is, and then his whole world feels a little sharper with the spike of fear over what that means.

“You think he got the idea of leading an assault against ‘Earth's Mightiest Heroes’ from me?” Loki asks with a wild smirk. It looks half-assed, even to Tony. Something is seriously not right. “Believe me when I tell you: you are the last earthlings I care to come face to face with.”

“Still scared of Hulk?” Tony teases.

Loki scoffs. “Doom is unhinged-”

“That’s rich coming from you,” Kate laughs. “You attacked New York! You mind controlled my-”

Loki narrows his eyes at the archer as if he’s only now noticing her at all. “I would watch your tongue when you speak to me, mortal-”

“Loki,” Thor’s voice booms. “Do focus, please.”

“Or what?” he chuckles. “You’ll strike me with your mighty hammer?”

“I am considering it.”

“Doom wants the Infinity Stones, as you likely already know.”

“Yeah, he’s already tried to have me killed over one,” Tony says.

“He did?” Peter asks.

Tony ignores him, keeping his repulsor trained on Loki. “Who’s he working with?”

Loki shakes his head. “I didn’t-” His face flushes with anger, pale cheeks turning a hot pink. “I didn’t foresee a mortal magician to be so… capable. He’s-”

They all startle as glass shatters, small shards scattering across the hardwood and getting caught in the rug. The expansive windows and sliding door that lead to the patio shatter and in walks a thin, dark haired woman, her face covered by an expressionless gold-plated mask and dressed in a black and white catsuit of body armor. She carries a semiautomatic weapon that glows with something that reeks of alien tech and levels it at them. She tuts. “Not sharing secrets now are we, Loki?”

The trickster straightens his spine, his eyes narrow slits and his lips drawn in a snarl. Tony hardly thinks it’s the look of a team player, but he’s unsure what to do with that information right now.

Thor hoists his hammer higher and moves to stand defensively in front of his brother. Kate keeps her arrow on Loki and America takes her back to guard against the new threat.

“Whitney, I take it?” Tony ventures. He knows just from her posture alone. He would know that cocky strut anywhere, it’s one of a kind, like everything this psycho does.

She sweeps the mask over her head, revealing her pointed nose and brown eyes. “Aren’t you just a little genius, Tony,” she says patronizingly. “So proud of you.” She rolls her eyes. “You know, I expected better of you,” she says to Loki before leveling her weapon in the god. “Although, maybe that’s on us for letting your leash run so long.”

Loki practically growls, summoning a dagger in each hand. “I am _not_ your _pet,”_ he spits.

Whitney cocks her head with a smirk, her pink lips stretched thin. “No, you’re a stray dog,” she says. “I think it’s only kind that we put you down. Before you hurt yourself.” Her weapon cocks and Tony doesn't hesitate. He fires, blasting the gun out of her hands. She cries out and drops the weapon with a curse.

“Your move,” Tony says, his gauntlets still aimed and at the ready.

“Fine,” she bites, pulling out a smaller weapon and firing at the kids.

Tony's heart leaps to his throat and he knows he can't get to them in time. So he fires at Frost, and Thor throws his hammer, and someone screams.

Between Tony's blast and Thor's hammer, Frost ends up sprawled across the hardwood, her mask thrown from the crown of her head and her gun skidding out of reach.

America threw herself in front of Kate, taking the bullet to her arm. Kate gasps and Peter runs to America's side, webbing the bullet wound shut to stop the bleeding. Tony feels a hot, white, rage in his cheeks and in his chest, and he blasts the Hydra agent that comes charging in through the blown wall. He knows she'll heal quick, her healing factor is faster than Rogers, but that's not the  _fucking point._

Frost cries out in frustration and pulls a remote from her pocket and presses a button.

Tony startles as Loki cries out, practically folding into Thor’s arms. He writhes with pain like he’s being hit with an electric shock, clawing at his own skin.

Kate gasps and lowers her weapon.

Peter reacts quickly, webbing the device from Whitney’s hands. “Mister Stark!”

“Toss it here!” He catches it and flips it around in his hands. It’s just a small device with a single touchscreen. The gauntlet retracts to expose his fingers and he taps what he hopes is an off switch to whatever the fuck is happening.

Loki’s screaming stops and isn’t that a blessing? Tony never wants to hear that sound again. The demigod whimpers feebly before his eyes roll back in his head and he loses consciousness.

Tony crushes the remote in his gauntleted hand. Loki is out cold and the kids have Frost contained. Peter has her arms webbed together, America has her pinned to the floor with a firm foot to the spine, and Kate has an arrow trained on her. Tony has no doubts they can handle her.

“Thor,” Tony calls. “Get Loki to containment until we know he’s not going to blow something up.”

Thor nods. “Gladly.” He tosses the unconscious trickster over his shoulder like a sack of flower.

“Chavez, are you okay?" He places a hand on her shoulder and the kid winces.

"Yeah," she says. "I'm cool. It's a clean through and through. It'll be healed by tonight, it's fine. It itches."

Kate throws her arms around America's neck. "Jesus, don't do that shit."

America pats Kate on the back. "I'm fine, Kate."

"Can you guys get Frost to lock up?" he asks of them.

America just smiles and, despite her wound, deadlifts the woman over her head. “With pleasure, Mister Stark.”

Tony moves to go find Stephen and the others but finds he doesn’t need to. Stephen appears in the room in a blink and Tony feels a wave of relief wash over him, strong enough that he thinks his legs would give out beneath him if not for the suit’s support.

“Doctor Strange!” Peter swings over to him. “Did you get Doctor Doom?” he asks in a rush.

Tony moves to the sorcerer’s side and takes him by the arm. “Are you okay?” he asks softly.

“I’m fine,” Stephen tells him earnestly. His lip is bleeding and there’s a bruise around his eye that bleeds sluggishly, but he looks intact. “Doom got away.”

Tony curses.

“He is outmatched,” Stephen says. “He’s not a very adept fighter, but it’s that damn suit. It’s near impenetrable, it has to be enchanted.”

“Seriously?” Peter asks. “Like, with magic?”

Stephen shakes his head and says: “He’s a lousy sorcerer. He’s quite skilled at force fields and energy manipulation on which he relies heavily to make up for what he lacks. He uses tech to make up for his lack of skill as well. He can’t teleport on his own, he used a device to do so, that’s how we lost him.”

Tony wipes the blood from Stephen’s lip and pats him on the arm, squeezing tightly. He knows that Stephen can handle himself, but he had still been frightened. “We’ll find him, I’m just glad you’re okay.” He taps the Eye that still sits firmly around his neck, the rock glowing proudly in his casing. “And you’ve still got this.”

Stephen smiles and brushes a hand through Tony’s hair. “I can handle that cheap excuse for a sorcerer. There were a few agents with them as well. They weren’t any trouble, Maria and Agent Morse picked them off. I see why they needed Loki.”

“Yeah, about the trickster…” Tony trails off as Maria and Bobbi come in, carrying Barton between them. The archer limps, his bow slung over his shoulders.

“Clint!” Kate hurries to his side, taking his weight from the two women.

“Hey, Katy-Kate.”

“I’ve got you.” She brings him to the sofa and carefully lowers him, taking a seat beside him. “What happened?”

Clint grunts. “Damn bastard tossed me off the roof.” He winces. “I think my ankle is broke.”

Kate rubs her hand along his arm soothingly and says, “I’ll get some ice,” before rushing to the kitchen.

“Been there, buddy,” Tony says.

Clint barks a laugh. “Yeah? Guess I’m lucky it was only two stories, huh?”

“We’ve got Loki,” Tony tells the room.

“Seriously?” Clink asks.

“Something’s not right with him.”

“You don’t say?”

“I’m serious, Barton,” Tony says with an eye roll. “I think he was trying to…” He shrugs. “I don’t know. Frost had him on a shock collar or something. He folded worse than a bad poker hand when she pressed a button.”

Clint snorts.

“You think they had him against his will?” Bobbi asks.

“Look, I don’t know what to think, okay?” he says. “Thor has him, ask him. Frost is in lockup.”

“Then we’ll get our answers from her,” Maria says.

Tony nods.

“Let Wanda talk with her,” Stephen says. “She can get in her head, she won’t have a choice but to tell the truth.”

“She’s still in Scotland with Vision,” Bobbi tells them as she takes a seat next to Barton. “Someone’ll need to call her, but it’s not a bad idea.”

“Okay, someone call then,” Tony agrees.

“I’ll call,” Maria volunteers.

 

* * *

 

Through the glass, Stephen and Wanda stand across from a cuffed Whitney Frost. She sits in a metal chair in a white room, her wrists cuffed to the tabletop and her heel tapping against the metal floor rhythmically. Tony had left the containment and interrogation rooms’ designs up to Hill -- she is the one with the experience in that area. But, really? White walls and concrete? Tony is a little disappointed in Maria’s creativity. Maybe he should buy some stickers from the dollar store to decorate the walls. Do they still make glitter puff stickers? Maybe Peter would know. He’s a kid, he likes… stickers?

Wanda sits, her legs folded neatly and hands clasped, and Stephen takes up vigil in the corner with his arms folded across his chest. Tony watches them through the glass, Maria at his side.

“Do you really trust Wanda to do this?” Maria asks him.

Tony’s brows crease and he hums. “You sound like you have your own reservations.”

Maria chuckles softly. “I like Wanda,” she says. “I’ve always liked Wanda, you know that. I’m just shocked that you do.” She smirks at him. “All I’m saying is she’s been in your head, you know how this works.” She turns to face Tony head on. “You think it’s humane to do this?”

Tony feels his stomach turn at the phantom pain of having Wanda in his head. This is different though, Wanda is different. He swallows. “Wanda knows her limits,” Tony tells her. “She can do this, this isn’t anything like what she did to me.”

“You trust her?”

Tony rolls his eyes. “Look, Stephen trusts her. That’s good enough for me.” He means it, too, and he trusts that Maria knows that.

They stand by and they watch Wanda’s palms glow a shocking hue of ruby red. Tony wishes he could understand her magic fully, that there was some way of quantifying it. Wanda’s eyes turn a matching shade as her magic and she slumps in her seat, suspended from collapsing by Wanda’s powers.

Wanda’s eyes narrow and her brows crease and her muscles tense. Stephen uncrosses his arms and takes a step forward, but he refrains from interfering.

Wanda concentrates for several moments before gasping and pulling back. Stephen steadies her. She looks at the one-way glass.

“It’s Hydra.”

Maria curses.

 

* * *

 

Peter lets his legs swing back and forth from where he sits on top of some kind of cabinet, an empty spare filing cabinet he things. It was left in the hall of containment probably during furnishing. His heels clack against the metal hollowly. Beside him, Thor stands with his arms folded and a pinched look on his face.

Peter watches the silent Asgardian. He’s only just met him, but seeing him all serious and silent is already freaking Peter out. He was so happy and smiley last night, he thinks this broody version is actually a little frightening. Peter sighs and pulls his mask off. “Mister Thor, Sir, uh…” he swallows. “Loki’s your brother, right?”

Thor nods. His gaze stays locked on the unconscious trickster that lays passed out on a cot on the other side of the glass. “Aye, he is.”

Peter nods. “Do you think he was trying to help- earlier, I mean? He said Doom’s ‘unhinged’. He was warning us.” Peter can’t shake the feeling of wrongness at seeing the trickster collapse because Miss Frost _pushed_ _a_ _button_. Loki’s the guy that attacked New York, Peter knows that- he deserves punishment for that, but he doesn’t deserve… whatever Miss Frost did. Peter has the feeling this isn’t exactly a fair partnership: Doom and Loki.

“There is still good in my brother,” Thor says faithfully. “Some may need more… _convincing_ of that truth, but that makes it no less true. Loki would align himself with this Doctor Doom if it pleased him, but this is not the look of a man in control.” He gestures at Loki through the glass. “Something is wrong and I intend to find out what.”

“Mister Stark will fix it,” Peter says.

Thor looks at him peculiarly. “You think Tony will help my brother? After what he’s done to your city and to Stark, personally.”

“I don’t know anything about what he might have done to Mister Stark personally, but Mister Stark believes in second chances and he always does the right thing,” Peter says. “If he _can_ fix it, then he _will._ He’s a good person.”

Thor’s smile is gentle and soft and it makes Peter feel warm. “I agree.”

Peter nods. Good. Something occurs to Peter. “She used a remote,” he says, leaping off the cabinet.

“Yes?”

“So it’s tech.” He reaches forward and unlocks the containment cell. He’s not supposed to know the override codes to these things but he saw them over Mister Stark’s shoulder once on a screen and his mind saved them away without him really thinking about it.

Thor follows closely behind him as he enters the cell.

“He’s not wearing a device,” Peter says. He’s really just thinking aloud as the puzzle pieces fall together in his head. “Nothing visible anyway. So… a microchip?” He swallows. That’s barbaric. He’s a human (well, close enough anyway), not a dog (not that Peter supports shocking dogs!). Peter hovers over the Asgardian and startles as he stirs. In a sudden bout of boldness, Peter sweeps the man’s long, inky hair from the base of his neck and _there-_ it’s a dark and purpling bruise with an unmistakable puncture wound. “There’s something under the skin here,” he tells Thor.

“What is it?”

“I think they implanted something in him, that’s how Miss Frost shocked him. It’s like an electric collar under the skin.” Peter thinks of all those alien documentaries of people claiming they’ve been abducted, of all the humans saying they’ve found microchips embedded in their skin afterward. How the tables have turned, Peter muses. Humans implanting aliens. Peter carefully reaches out and runs a finger over the bruise-

Loki stirs and wakes with a jolt from the touch, a quick hand snatching Peter’s wrist.

Peter gives a shout of surprise and attempts to jerk out of the man’s grip, but Loki is stronger and he holds tight. Peter shoots him with web and Loki releases him in surprise, webbing plastering itself to his chest.

“Loki, careful,” Thor soothes. “You are safe, the child is not a threat.”

Loki sits up with a soft groan and rubs at the back of his neck. There’s a dark bruise along his cheekbone. He looks tired.

Peter exhales, his heart racing. “You scared the hell out of me.”

“Why are you dressed as a bug?” Loki questions through narrowed eyes.

Peter offers a small wave. “Hi, I’m Spider-Man.”

He looks at Thor like he’s the only sane individual left in the world. “Your Avengers are recruiting children?” he asks, bewildered.

“I’m a trainee.”

Thor smiles broadly. “He is the Man of Iron’s.”

Peter shakes his head. “I’m not.”

Loki ignores them both and attempts to stand, Thor steadies him to keep him from toppling right over. “Damn Frost,” he curses. “If she thinks she can control me then she is sorely mistaken. I will find her and I will tear her head from her shoulders.”

Peter swallows. He gets the impression that Loki means it.

“We have Whitney Frost in containment,” Thor tells him.

Loki’s green eyes sparkle. “Lovely.”

Thor grips his arm. “And you are _not_ going to kill her.”

“Well, why on earth not? She’s a threat to your _team_ as well, this is a mutually beneficial murder.”

“You’re not much of a threat with that device in your neck,” Peter says before he can stop himself.

Loki’s eyes narrow and he straightens his spine, peeling Peter’s webbing from his jacket. “Perhaps, but so long as you have her locked up she doesn’t have her remote and I’m once again a free agent. What’s stopping me from popping in there and carving out her lungs?”

Thor smiles, unfazed by his brother’s idle threats. Peter, on the other hand, really doesn't think he’s joking. “You’re right, I cannot stop you, Loki. But Doom is still out there and he can. Am I wrong?” he challenges.

Loki swallows. “No,” he admits, _“brother,_ you are not wrong.” He seems to weigh his options. “How in the norns did you allow Doom to get away? Fine: a truce then. I know what Doom is after, I know what he is planning, and I know who he is working for. How may I be of assistance?” he asks sarcastically.

Thor offers him is hand.

Loki rolls his eyes theatrically and frowns, but he clasps the god’s hand nonetheless.

“A truce.”

“Fine,” Loki manages between clenched teeth.

Thor claps him on the back, causing him to stumble. Peter reaches to steady him and, to Peter’s surprise, the trickster doesn’t brush him off.

“I am fine,” he bites.

“You look like you haven’t slept in forever,” Peter comments.

“I am not any concern of yours, child,” he says heatedly, but there’s no real bite behind it.

“So who’s Doom working for?” Peter asks curiously. Doom’s the biggest baddie Pete’s had to deal with in any capacity, the thought of someone pulling his strings has his palms sweating.

Loki clears his throat. He still looks a bit pale, but maybe that’s just how he always looks. He remembers Mister Barton once mentioning that Loki was adopted, that sounds right to Peter. He looks nothing like the bronzed, golden, thunder god. There are, however, distinct shadows beneath his eyes that Peter’s willing to bet aren’t normal. His hands, now that Peter is close enough to see them, are thin and carry the faintest tremors. Maybe he’s sick, Peter thinks, or maybe Doom or whoever has been especially rough with him. The thought makes Peter feel a little ill.

“They called themselves Hydra,” Loki says. “A rather appropriate name from my experience.”

The title means nothing to Peter, ringing no bells of familiarity for the teen. He looks at Thor and the god shows no signs of recognition as well.

“What did they want with you?” Thor asks him.

Loki sways on his feet, his face growing a little flushed.

“You should sit, Loki.” Thor guides him back down onto his cot and it’s a testament to how horrid he must feel that he allows Thor to manhandle him without protest.

“I am fine,” the trickster still insists. Peter doesn’t believe him. “They wanted my magic, what else?” he tells Peter. “There’s a horrible lack of sorcerers on this planet, Doom is the only I’ve yet to see and his talents are greatly lacking. He’s an embarrassment.”

Peter smiles to himself. That what Doctor Strange had thought, too. It’s odd, but Peter finds himself hanging onto every word of Loki’s.

“My… association with Doom began some time ago, we had aligning goals. He hadn’t been working with Hydra at the time, I had no reason to believe he was anything other than a free agent this time around. I did not trust the man, but he had his uses.” Loki swallows back a wave of nausea. “They bested me, is that what you want to here, Thor?”

The thunder god purses his lips but he remains silent.

“Stark and the other will want to hear of this themselves,” Thor says. “You should save your strength.”

“I am not sick and feeble,” he says with enough venom to nearly prove his point.

Peter doesn’t buy the act. Something is just… off, if you ask the web-slinger.

Thor looks at his brother fondly, so much warmth in his eyes that Peter wonders how anyone could want to stab this guy. “All the same, brother,” he says, patting him on the arm.

Loki rests his head against the solid white wall behind him, his eyes falling shut wearily. He exhales heavily and his hands shake just a little.

“Do you want some water?” Peter asks.

 

* * *

 

Loki sits, arms folded but uncuffed, at the interrogation table. He looks agitated and aloof all at the same time. Tony watches him from his chair across from him- Stephen and Thor now wait on the other side of the glass with Barton who insisted on joining them. Tony had told the archer to wait upstairs with the kids but he’s too stubborn for his own good. The others have gone upstairs to clean up what damage Doom and Frost have done to the facility.

It’s getting late in the afternoon.

Loki is suspiciously cooperative with them, it keeps Tony on his toes. He tells them everything. He tells them about Doom joining Hydra, and he shamefully tells them about Doom luring him in. “They have a serum, Hydra does,” he tells them. “That Frost woman stabbed me with a needle, it…” he shakes his head. “Magic is a part of my being, it’s a sixth sense. It is a part of me. Their serum suppressed that part of me. By the time the effects of the drug had subsided they had stuck me with this device.”

“Frost drugged you?” Tony asks. “Well, join the club, I guess.” Tony’s not sympathizing, he’s not. He will admit that he’s having a hard time dispising the trickster, especially with him looking like this. He’s pale, unnaturally so, and he looks like he could keel over any second. He looks… defeated.

Tony startles when the door opens and, turning, in walks the Peter. He sets a full glass of water on the table before Loki and waits for the trickster to take a sip.

“Kid, what are you doing?” Tony asks, bewildered and a little tense.

“What? He’s sick, he should hydrate.”

Tony’s both proud of the kid’s kindness and overwhelmingly concerned about his self-preservation skills (or lack thereof).

Loki takes a measured sip with dry and cracked lips. “Thank you,” he says carefully.

“Peter.”

  
Loki’s head cocks as he observes the teen.

“My name’s Peter.”

“Thank you, Peter.”

“Kid!” Tony throws his hands up. “What are you doing?”

“What?”

“Stop playing nice with the bad guy.”

Peter shakes his head. “Loki is hardly the bad guy, Mister Stark,” he says.

“Don’t talk back to me.”

Peter throws his arms out. “It’s true and you know it’s true.”

Tony sighs and wets his lips. “He’s…” Okay, yes, Peter has a point. And, yeah, Tony had pretty much been thinking the same thing. But… he can’t promise that, he can’t make any definites yet. This is an alien situation and he’s not trying to risk Peter in the crosshairs. “Just, you wait outside with Thor.”

“Okay.”

Tony groans once Peter’s shut the door behind him and runs a hand through his hair. He’s exhausted, this day has been exhausting. God, maybe they should just let Wanda magic his head- but, Loki’s being cooperative, he hasn’t been hostile once. They aren’t SHIELD, they won’t play dirty in the ways that Fury had once been willing to do.

“Look,” Tony starts. “Just, what did they want with you? Hydra and Doom?”

“My magic,” he says bitterly. “And my knowledge of that which is beyond their capacity to understand.”

Tony folds his arms. “Try me, Rudolph.”

Loki takes a sip of his water. “These Infinity Stones, there is much about them that mortal minds fail to comprehend. The power these stones hold is unimaginable.”

“So Thor has said.”

“Thor is a fool.”

“So he’s wrong?”

“Perhaps not. Not about this anyhow,” he admits. “These Hydra individuals were very dim. They did not understand the powers they would be unlocking, the powers of the stones are not so easily accessed by just anyone. It takes someone truly powerful himself to wield that magic.”

Tony wonders if that’s true, and then he thinks of Stephen so effortlessly using the Eye of Agamotto. “So you knew Doom wanted these stones and you offered to help him. You tricked him, knowing he would bring you right to these stones that you could take for yourself. Selfish as ever.”

Loki shakes his head. “It was not as simple as that. I told Doom of the stones years ago when he came to me with questions of the Time Stone. He read of it in some ancient Midgardian wizards’ texts. So I answered his questions for a quid pro quo. I helped him, he owed me. I have been on your planet for some time,” he says. “Since escaping Asgard’s prisons I’ve been here making acquaintances with your Doom and his ilk. Your Avengers were never to be involved. I’d rather you not know I was here, after all.”

“Low profile doesn’t suit you,” Tony quips.

“I’m trying to keep my head off several chopping blocks,” he says. “Sometimes going underground is the only option.”

“‘Someone truly powerful himself to wield that magic’ huh? And you think that’s you?”

  
“I had, once,” Loki says. “But that was before I invaded your city with the Mind and Space Stones. I’ve learnt my lessons when it comes to those cursed rocks, Stark, believe me. There are forces beyond your realm that I severely disappointed with that failure. I’d gladly never see one of those stones again.” He sighs. “All I knew was that Doom asked for my assistance. I came. I was drugged by Frost.”

Tony swallows. “And they extracted what information from you that they needed. They tricked you and they hurt you when you didn’t obey.”

Loki wordlessly nods.

“I don’t… trust you, Loki,” Tony says, “but you’re clearly not a threat and because of that, I believe you. So just,” he shrugs and stands, “get some rest. Let us bandage you up and get that _thing_ out of your neck.”

Loki looks at him with rage-filled eyes. Whether that hatred is aimed towards him or saved for Doom and Hydra, Tony really can’t say. It causes the hairs on his arms to raise.

Finally, he says, “I will not object to the removal of this infernal device.”

Tony nods. “Good. Okay. There’s a spare room down the hall from Thor’s. You can take that.”

“I’m being upgraded from a cell?”

“You’re not a threat, Loki, Peter’s right,” Tony says measuredly. “Or goals align here. You want revenge on Doom and Hydra? We want Doom in a cell and Hydra dismantled. I have a feeling you won’t object to some teamwork on this one.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AHHH!!
> 
> I’m realizing how much longer this is gonna be than the last one, the whole story I mean. Like damn. Hope y’all are planning on hanging around.


	8. You Are Not the One Who Made This Mess

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title from Kina Grannis's song 'Throw It Away'  
> (which I played on repeat while writing this)

Tony isn’t sure how they’re supposed to proceed here. They’ve got a pissed off sorcerer that’s supposed to be locked up in an Asgardian prison sleeping just four rooms down from him and Stephen, and a second pissed off sorcerer out for their blood all over some god damn rocks that Tony doesn’t even want!

“What do we do with him?” Tony asks.

Stephen hums, setting down his mug of coffee. “I don’t know.”

“Seriously, Stephen, what the fuck are we doing?” he asks. “This isn’t what I signed up for, let’s retire. Clint says he knows this farm out in Tennessee for sale. Let’s become farmers.”

Stephen snorts. “Quit Stark Industries and become a dairy farmer? Tony, I’m not sure you’re entirely cut out for that,” he muses.

“Me? I like Tennessee. You’re the one I’m not so sure can handle roughing it.”

“You’re right,” Stephen says. “I’m a New Yorker. I like ten dollar latés and Armani shoes.”

“You have a shoe problem.”

“I like comfort.”

“You’re insane.”

“What’s that say about you?”

“Touché.”

Stephen takes a sip of his coffee. “You could just try _talking_ with Loki,” he suggests.

Tony rolls his eyes. “Oh yeah, where’d you come up with that one, sparky?”

He shakes his head. “I’m serious. It’s a place to start, Tony. I don’t get a feeling of hostility from him,” he says. “There is no ill intent left in that man. He’s angry, there is so much rage in him, but that anger can be trusted. He will work with us in this.”

“You think so?”

Stephen nods. “Of course. He wants Doom and Hydra taken care of as much as we do. He wants Doom taken down maybe more than any of us.”

Tony isn’t sold on any of this, but he is willing to trust Stephen’s judgement on this, he is the expert on all things concerning wizards and magic. He will allow Stephen to take point on this -- spiritually, Tony is still too much of a control freak to let go of the reigns entirely. He’s working on that, but one thing at a time.

“What are you thinking?” Stephen asks him.

“I’m thinking that the trickster god of lies who tried to kill me once is our best bet at taking down Doom and Hydra and it’s really pissing me off.”

“Do you think he knows where they are? Their homebase?”

“I think he knows more than he’s telling us.”

“How much more?”

Tony shrugs. “I think he’s been to their base of operations,” he says. “I think he knows more of their secrets than he’s told us, and I think he’s playing his own angle. But he’ll keep that close to his chest. We have to trust him.” Trust that he will lead them to Doom and Hydra. “If he doesn’t reciprocate that trust then how in the hell are we supposed to trust him at all? There’s an uneven balance of power here and I don’t like it.”

“Well then,” Stephen says, “I suggest you get to fixing that, yeah?”

Tony goes to Loki’s room after they’ve finished their breakfast, well, after he’s finished watching Stephen eat his breakfast. Tony finds he’s not very hungry when he gets wrapped up in these things. He has a few questions he would like to ask of the trickster.

Tony pauses outside the god’s door, wringing his hands. They shake - a little. It’s the nerves; the overwhelming restlessness. He cannot sleep -- he hasn’t slept since this began. He’s only built and plotted and fretted over the things he cannot control. He doesn’t like not having control. The sense of helplessness is foreign to him and frightens him. His chest aches with the phantom pains of pieces of sternum that have been missing for years. He rubs the reactor to sooth the pain, but it does him no good.

He knocks on the door before letting himself in. Probably not his brightest move considering he is walking in on a magic man that will gladly strangle him to death.

He freezes in shock when he sees Peter and Thor already in the room. The thunder god stands by the window, leaning his weight against the glass. Peter sits on top of the dresser. Loki sits atop his neatly made bed, his legs folded elegantly beneath him.

“What the hell are you doing in here?” he asks Peter.

The kid smiles weakly. “Hanging out with Mister Thor, Sir.”

“The spider child is an admirable companion,” Thor says brightly. “He is a brave warrior.”

Peter grins and his cheeks flush pink.

“What-?” Tony shakes his head. “I need to talk to you,” he tells Loki.

“You have more questions,” the trickster says.

Tony nods. “Yeah, I do, actually.” He folds his arms over his chest, covering the glow of the reactor from the god’s sight. He clears his throat. “There are still a lot of things left unanswered going off of what you told us last night.”

He spreads his hands diplomatically. “What would you ask of me, Stark?”

Tony eyes him closely -- actually _looks_ at him. He really does look like hell warmed over. Despite how heavily FRIDAY says he slept last night, he is still sporting heavy bruises beneath his eyes and an unnatural pale hue. He looks ill. “Have you eaten today?”

Loki blinks in surprise. “Excuse me?”

  
“Breakfast. Have you had any?”

Loki shakes his head. “I hardly see how-”

Tony sighs. “C’mon, Reindeer Games,” he says. “Starving yourself won’t help anyone. We need you strong and healthy if we’re going to pull that hunk of metal out of your neck.”

Loki swallows heavily. He looks at Thor with wide eyes, almost as if looking for guidance. Thor simply nods with a charming and encouraging smile. “Go,” he tells him. “I would see you well, brother.”

Loki frowns and shakes his head, but he climbs off the mattress and follows Tony nonetheless. It’s a baffling show of vulnerability and obedience that has Tony’s stomach churning. It’s only further proof to the mechanic that something is most definitely not right.

Tony leads them back to the kitchen, it’s empty and the coffee has gone cold. Tony sits the god down at the table with a gentle push and dumps out the coffee pot. He starts a fresh brew and pulls out a frying pan and a carton of eggs. He makes them silently, pouring himself his third coffee of the day when the machine beeps. He sets a full plate of eggs in front of Loki and tosses down a fork dispassionately before taking the seat across from him.

“Eat,” he commands.

Again, Loki doesn’t put up much of a fight.

So many questions sit on the tip of Tony’s tongue, but he swallows most of them. He lets the god eat until his plate is almost clean before he speaks. “What’s your angle?” he asks.

If Loki is startled by the bluntness he doesn't allow it to show. “What makes you believe I _have_ an angle, Stark?”

Tony shrugs. “Because you’re you, you always have an angle.”

“And you know me so well,” the magician drawls, leaning in close.

Tony swallows, feeling his heart rate rise. “I know that you’re smart,” he says, “wickedly smart. If you weren’t completely psychotic and hadn’t tried taking over Manhattan, I might like you.”

“I did not invade your city.”

Tony snorts. “Right. And I’m Queen Victoria.”

“I do not know who that is.”

“Don’t worry about it. What the fuck do you mean you ‘didn’t invade’ my city?”

“I mean that I did not wish to,” he says. “I was commanded to.”

“Don’t fuck with me, Loki. Who the hell would be pulling _your_ strings?” Tony asks. “You’re a psycho and a diva and you’re power hungry. You don’t really seem the type to take orders. Your current predicament aside of course."

Loki hums. “All of these things are true, but why would I ever want your New York? My sights are for Asgard, they always have been.”

Tony shakes his head. “So what then? Someone _commanded_ you to invade Earth.”

He bows his head. “Precisely. He is the one who gave me the stones and taught me of the power they each possess. Your Hydra does not know of this man, and I do not believe he is a threat to you- not yet. He is unaware that so many of these stones are on this planet. I received my knowledge from him, Hydra received their knowledge from me, and Doom his knowledge from Hydra.”

“So you weren’t behind the invasion of New York, and you have no hidden agenda. That’s what you’re telling me?”

“I was not behind New York, if I had been I would not have lost so easily. Believe me, Stark.”

“I’ll take your word for it. So hidden agendas?”

“I wish to kill Doom,” he says.

Tony blinks. “Okay, so, agenda’s not so hidden.”

“I had no plans of keeping my intentions towards Doom a secret.” He shrugs. “I wish him dead, it is as simple as that.”

“Well, it’s not that I don’t share your wishes,” Tony admits, “life would be easier with Doom dead, I can't really argue that. I’m not going to let you kill him though.”

Loki cocks his head. "With what reasoning?" he asks. "Have you not killed your enemies in the past?"

Tony swallows.  _How the fuck is that-?_ Tony shakes his head. "That isn't the same. I had no choice." He thinks of Obie and of the people's (the terrorists') lives that he took to keep his own life. That's not the same. 

"You always have a choice, Stark."

"Not always."

"Is one life worth less than your own simply because you may have more to offer the world? Are you in the business of assigning value to individuals?" Loki scoffs. "And you call me the cruel one."

Tony feels his cheeks flush with anger. "That's not what I meant," he argues. "Sometimes you don't have time to think or weigh your options. Sometimes there's no time to hesitate. So if I can keep Doom alive, any of them, then I will. Because  _that's_ my job."

Loki hums. “We can discuss this once we have Doom in our custody, can we not?”

“You’re completely insane.”

Loki grins and tooth-bearing smiles. “So I’ve been informed.” He runs a hand through his inky black hair and his face grows somber. “If I do not succeed in finding Doom these stones then he will have me killed. He’s not much the type to do it himself, but my fate is a chopping block if he apprehends me.”

Tony swallows. He’s not really a fan of planned executions. “Well, join the party then. Looks like Doom’s hit list just keeps growing. God, I am so tired of magic, we have enough magicians on this team and more than enough that have tried to kill me.”

“You have a sorcerer?” Loki asks.

“Oh, yeah, right. You haven’t met Stephen.” Part of him wants to take Stephen and hide him away from this loon of a space god, people that try to kill him don’t get to touch his stuff. “Or Wanda, now that I think about it.”

“You have two?”

“One and a half.” He shrugs. “Wanda’s not an average sorcerer, she’s more like you I’d guess. A witch. Stephen is Sorcerer Supreme, so I'm confident that he’ll kick your ass if the need arises.”

“I’m terrified," he drawls.

Tony snorts. “You still look like shit.”

Loki smiles but doesn’t say a word on it.

Something is different about the guy, Tony thinks. He doesn’t just mean the lack of hostility and odd displays of obedience towards Thor. Or the way he’s yet to stab anyone to death. He looks at Loki, _really looks at him._ He seems tense and exhausted, but it’s more than that. The last time Tony had seen the guy he had been a raving madman, strung out on power. Now, he is far more subdued. It’s unsettling, only because it’s unusual in Tony’s experience.

“When you were _commanded_ to invade Earth,” Tony begins, gaining Loki’s full attention -- sharp green eyes boring into him. “You had two of the stones.”

“The space stone and the mind stone, yes.”

“Right. Yeah. Thor mentioned, the other day, that the Mind Stone has the power to ‘enhance the intelligence of its wielder’.”

“Yes?”

“Is that true?” he asks.

Loki’s eyes narrow pointedly, etching a curious frown across his face. “Why do you ask, Stark?”

Tony swallows nervously. “I’m curious, I won’t argue that, the things that could be done..." He shakes his head, his thoughts swimming with the things he could create. He has surpassed the technology of his time, he cannot contend with his curiosity, he is a futurist and his mind swims with the possibilities. He could do Ultron right this time, he could make the contingency plans they need. “I could save-”

“Your planet? Your _friends?”_

Tony’s hands tremble and he folds them beneath the table.

“It would be anachronistic for you to wield that power,” Loki says evenly, “for anyone to have that power here on Earth. It does not belong here.”

Maybe Loki is right, and isn’t that a thought?

“You don’t have to convince me of the dangers of these pebbles. I’m all for destroying them.” he takes a sip of his coffee. “I was overruled.”

Loki hums. “I would disagree with destroying the stones,” he says.

“You mean because you want them kept intact for whenever you feel the urge to steal them, right?”

Loki smiles. “Perhaps. I like to keep my options open.”

He shakes his head. “Right. This is why people don’t trust you.”

“After we apprehend Doom and destroy this Hydra you will not have to.”

“The doctors will be ready to take that thing out of your neck by noon,” he tells him. “They’re prepping the med bay now. Afterward, I want everything you know about Doom. There will be a debrief on your time with him and Hydra."

Loki bows his head.

Tony stands and dumps the dregs of his coffee down the sink. “One last thing,” he says before he goes, “I don’t know why Peter keeps hanging around you, but I don’t like it. Whether you’re helping us or not, you’re still dangerous and you still threw me out a window. I can’t tell him to keep away from you, he won’t listen if I do. Only reason I haven’t completely lost it yet is because Thor seems to be keeping a close eye on both of you, but if you _do_ harm Peter then you have me to deal with. So, really, for your own sake, leave the kid alone.”

”You’ve exposed your hand, Stark,” Loki says.

Tony swallows. So the kid is a weakness, big deal, it’s not as if Loki hadn’t already perceived as much. “Don’t fuck with me, Loki, I’m really not in the mood.”

“Understood.”

“Good.”

 

* * *

 

Peter cannot sleep. He’s tired -- hell, he’s _really_ tired. The attack on the Avengers base that morning has him freaked and seeing the state of the destroyed living space with its windows busted and glass littering the floor, America’s blood staining the hardwood, has him a little shaken. This is their homebase, their safe space, bad things aren’t meant to happen here.

He calls Ned and Michelle and lets them know that everything is okay and, besides America’s already healing wound, they’re all okay. He doesn’t go home though, he doesn’t want to. He insists on staying when Mister Stark offers to have Doctor Strange bring him home. 

By the time Mister Stark is finished interrogating Loki, Peter is ready to crash, but he cannot sleep. His mind won't stop screaming. He feels a fiery indignation from being treated like a kid. He has been Spider-Man since he was fifteen, he isn’t some inexperienced kid, he can handle this -- he wants to help. Still, Mister Stark treats him with kid gloves. It doesn’t irritate him most days, he understands. He’s been moving on thin ice since the Vulture incident.

Peter chews on his lips and thinks.

_Screw it._

He climbs out of bed and pulls on a t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants from the overnight bag he’d brought with him. It’s almost midnight and everyone is in their respective rooms. Peter is at the end of the hall, by America and Kate’s rooms. Although, he’s pretty sure the two have been sharing a room but he’s too embarrassed to ask. He carefully walks past Mister Stark and Doctor Strange’s room with silent feet, keeping his steps feather light. He passes Thor’s room and pauses in front of the spare room that had been given to Loki. There’s a light on and the glow shines through the crack at the bottom of the door.

Peter hesitates before, stealing all his courage, he knocks. He opens the door and peeks his head inside. “Uh, hi.”

Loki sits on his made up bed, his long legs folded beneath him, and looks at Peter with peculiar suspicion and curiosity. “Peter Parker, was it?”

Peter nods. “Yeah, uh. Um…” He swallowed thickly, unsure of what to say now that he’s here. “I couldn’t sleep.”

Loki cocks his head. “So you come to me?”

Peter shrugs. “I don’t know why I- I just thought that maybe you couldn’t sleep either.”

“You may as well come in," Loki allows. 

So Peter does. He steps fully into the room and closes the door behind him with a sense of finality. He knows these rooms are soundproof, if Loki decides to stab him to death he’s on his own. “What are you doing?” he asks, eyeing Loki’s hands where they had been glowing a brilliant shade of green just a moment ago.

“I was attempting to heal the wounds I have sustained.”

“You were hurt?”

“Only some,” Loki answers. “Doom was not the most gracious host.”

Peter shakes his head and, without thinking anything of it, approaches Loki’s bed. He sits at the foot of the mattress and runs a hand through his hair. 

Loki keeps a wary eye on him.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“Pardon?” There is genuine surprise in his emerald eyes.

“I don’t know, maybe it could help,” Peter is quick to say. “You don’t have to. I’m not even an Avenger, technically. I just thought-”

“They have not made you a part of their team?” Loki asks.

Peter shakes his head. “Mister Stark says not until I am eighteen.”

Loki looks truly perplexed. “How old are you, child?”

“Sixteen.”

“And yet Thor praises you as a warrior.”

Peter feels his face grow hot. “He does? He’s not even seen me fight as Spider-Man.”

“I don’t believe he needs to. For all that that man is an oaf, he has quite good judgment.”

“Are you complimenting him?” Peter snorts. “I thought you hated him.”

“It is not a compliment, only a statement of truth.”

“Whatever you say.”

Loki's pale hands fiddle restlessly. “And ‘hate’ is a strong word.”

“You’re not like Mister Stark said you would be.”

“Oh?”

Peter shakes his head. “You says you’re a deranged lunatic hell bent of taking over humanity.”

Loki snorts. “I once was,” he says softly and truthfully. There is enough heart in his voice to surprise Peter with his honesty. “I was drunk on the power of these stones and filled with spite towards Thor and Asgard.”

“And now?”

He smiles. “My mind is clear and I would gladly stab Thor.”

“And the world domination thing?”

  
“I have no eyes for your planet, there is no need for concern child. Midgard does not interest me, only Asgard does,” he says. He shakes his head and chuckles lightly. “Thor would be a horrid king.”

“You think you would make a good one.”

“Oh, yes, I could return Asgard to its state of peace and glory had I been given the chance.”

Peter shakes his head and chuckles. “You are crazy.”

“I never disputed that claim.”

Peter chuckles and flops back on the mattress, exhaustion creeping up on him. “So how did you come to work for Doom and Hydra?” Peter’s nose wrinkles at the name. It’s a stupid name if you ask him. He’s unfamiliar with it and half tempted to hack Mister Stark’s servers to find out what they know on them, but FRIDAY would find him out and tell Mister Stark and then Peter would likely be benched.

Loki tenses. “Stark has already asked me these things. Could you not simply watch the tapes he likely made of the discussion?”

  
Peter shrugs. “Well, yeah I could, but I don’t have _clearance_ and I’d like to hear it from you.” Peter isn't buying into all the things Mister Stark has called Loki, all the evil he says he is capable of. Loki is not a villain, he is... something else. Peter sees the potential for good in him. He's not sure why.

Loki takes a breath, watching Peter curiously and carefully. He hesitates, and then says: “Doom was an occasional ally.”

“Occasional?”

“Yes. You do not make _friendships_ in my line of expertise.”

Peter hums.

“He inquired after my assistance in some plot against the Avengers. I had little interest, but I owed him a favor.”

Peter feels a spike of anxiety in his chest. Loki was going to attack them? “What was his plan?”

“He did not say. I arrived at our agreed upon destination and I was ambushed.” He wets his lips. “It should not have been anything I could not handle, but I was unprepared for such a large scale attack, I was unaware of his new alliance with Hydra, and for the… the way Doom has changed. He was completely unhinged.”

“So you said.”

“Stop interrupting me.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Doom has always been somewhat unpredictable. But since learning of these stones from his texts, he became far more deranged. He wishes to obtain these Infinity Stones. He wishes for Tony Stark’s death and likely the downfall of the Avengers entirely,” Loki finishes.

Peter swallows past the lump that has formed in his throat. "What do you mean ‘deranged’?” he croaks.

Loki looks at him softly. It surprises Peter, the tenderness behind his eyes. He looks… sad. Wounded, but not in the physical sense. “I think it is best I keep that to myself, child. You should sleep.”

Peter wants to argue, but a deep yawn rips its way out of him and his argument crumbles. “Okay.” He rolls off the mattress and stretches his tired limbs. “Goodnight, Loki.”

“Sleep well.”

Peter closes the door behind him and stands in the silent hallway. He chews on his lips and climbs into his own bed. He wonders what happened to Loki while Hydar had him, and he wonders about magic stones. He sleeps heavy that night and wakes early. He finds Thor already in Loki’s room when he knocks on his door.

 

* * *

 

 

The device in Loki’s neck is removed that afternoon. It’s a simple operation that Stephen supervises. His hands are doing better, but he trusts Doctor Cho and the once-SHIELD doctors that stay on-call to handle the op themselves. Afterward, the trickster is lead to the most spacious of their meeting areas -- trading the staleness of the interrogation rooms for cushioned chairs and wide windows. The team (lacking Vision and Wanda) gather.

Tony paces and watches Stephen introduce himself to the God nervously. Stephen confidently offers him his hand and Loki eyes him suspiciously before accepting the handshake.

“You are the sorcerer Peter has told me of.”

Stephen’s brow quirks in a question and Tony shoots the kid a sharp frown. Peter slumps in his seat between Kate and Chavez, his cheeks growing pink.

“I was under the impression that I was to be interrogated,” Loki says.

“It’s a debrief,” Tony corrects. He tosses a bouncy ball as he paces, bouncing it off the hardwood and catching it. “You’re not our prisoner.”

“No?”

“No. Whitney Frost is our prisoner, if you’d like we can get you a matching cell?”

“That won’t be necessary.” He takes a seat between Thor and Maria.

“Tony, would you sit?” Stephen asks.

He shakes his head.

“Don’t bother,” Clint tells Stephen. “He’s going to pace until he’s worn a hole through the floor.”

  
“You’ve seen Hydra’s headquarters,” Tony accuses.

Loki nods. “I have.”

“Could you pinpoint it on a map?” he asks.

Loki shakes his head. “Perhaps, but I am unfamiliar with your Earth landmarks.”

“You’re smart, you’ll figure it out.”

“They never told me where, I was incapacitated for the journeys to and from or Victor used his poorly constructed contraption to teleport us,” he says. He rests his hands on the tabletop and Tony watches as he folds them tightly together to stop their subtle tremors. “I could determine the location based off of nearby landmarks perhaps,” he offers. “Their building had plenty of windows.”

“That could work,” Tony says.

“It was a large city,” Loki supplies.

“East Coast?” Bobbi asks.

“I should think so. When we drove it never took long to reach New York.”

“That narrows it down,” Maria says. She taps away at her tablet. “Could be DC.”

“Philadelphia is an hour’s drive,” Stephen rattles off. “Boston’s about four, DC and Baltimore are about the same.”

Maria nods. “Right, those are our best bets.” She flicks her tablet and the map she had been studying sprang to life across the table top, giving them a large three-dimensional road map. Markers hovered over and illuminated the cities they had pointed out.

“Philadelphia is too close,” Loki determines. “Our drives were much more than an hour.” The marker that hovers over the Pennsylvania city vanishes. A beat passes where Loki simply studies the map in silence.

“What are you thinking?” Peter asks of him.

Tony frowns between the two of them. He feels that same wave of protectiveness he feels towards Stephen. He wants to drag Pete from the room by his shirt collar and lock him in a god damn tower like old kings did with their daughters. No angry space gods are allowed to lay a hand on _his things-_ okay, breathe, Tony, slow down. Peter is a young adult and he is _not_ even yours, ease off, buddy. Your possessive paranoia is showing. Loki is totally harmless right now, right? And if not, you have a sorcerer boyfriend (fiancé) that can just zap him right into Dormammu's mouth.

Loki looks at the map thoughtfully. “I should think your Baltimore or DC are viable choices,” he says. “They often said that we were to go ‘up to New York’.”

“So no Boston either,” Peter says. The city marker vanishes.

“You said landmarks might help,” Bobbi says. She pulls up two large holographic screens over the table to let Loki scan through DC and Baltimore skylines and noteworthy buildings.

“I did not see these monuments,” he says, tapping the images on DC.

“Well there’s more to the city than the Washington Monument,” Tony says.

“I hate that thing,” Peter mutters.

“I believe they are located in Baltimore,” he says. “This skyline is familiar.”

Tony tosses the bouncy ball he had been squeezing to death and says, “great. FRIDAY, get eyes all over the city.”

“On it, Boss,” the AI complies.

“That is it?” Loki asks. “We just _wait?”_

“We can’t exactly run into Baltimore guns blazing,” Tony says. “That’s a whole city, we have no idea where in it they might be. We need to know for sure where they’re at. We can’t risk coming down on the wrong people.”

Loki grits his teeth, his hands clenching tightly on the table.

Tony tenses.

“We’ll find them,” Peter says. He looks at Loki with big brown eyes.

Loki’s sharp eyes zero in on Peter and Tony watches as his expression, bafflingly, softens. “I’ve waited months to get my revenge on Victor, what are a few more days? Are we finished here?”

Tony nods. “Yeah, you can go.”

Thor watches Loki leave with a saddened expression. He and Peter get up to leave together. Peter says something under his breath to the thunderer and Thor’s face immediately brightens into a sunny grin. He claps Peter on the back and they go.

The room empties quickly and Stephen hovers before the exit. He looks back at Tony who still stands stalk still with the bouncy ball clenched tightly in his fist. He startles when Stephen calls his name.

“Hmm?”

Stephen approaches and runs a hand through Tony hair. The mechanic leans into the touch, his eyes falling shut. He is _so_ tired. “When did Pete become BFFs with the space princes?”

“Are you surprised?” Stephen asks. “He has the biggest heart of anyone I’ve met. Can you really say you’re surprised he’s latched onto a human sunbeam and a lost soul?”

Tony snorts. “Are you sympathizing with Loki too? What is in the water here?”

Stephen shakes his head with a tired smile. “Empathizing, really. It’s a trait that’s somewhat new to me and something I’m usually quite late too, but there’s something about Loki-”

“He’s a trickster, I wouldn’t fall for it.”

“It’s not that, Tony. He isn’t the same man that invaded New York, he’s changed. Thor sees it and, more objectively, Peter sees it,” he says. “I can’t ask you to forgive him, your history together is short and violent. I promise you, however, that he has no ill intent towards you- and definitely not towards Peter.”

“You’re reading _auras_ now?” Tony snarks, unwilling to accept the change.

Stephen chuckles. “Something like that. Just- ease off a little. He isn’t going to stab you or Peter or anyone here.”

“Why are you so sure?”

“I can see the future, Tony.” He taps the amulet that rests around his neck. “Take my word for it.”

Tony rolls his eyes but lets Stephen take him by the hand and lead him from the conference room. The motion sensor lights flicker off as they go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After Infinity War, my love for Loki (which had waned since Thor 2 for sure) was revived and I felt the need to make him happy and protect him. His characterization in Thor 3 was the best. I don't know whose idea it was to make him a big baddie, he's a god damn trickster and a petty little gay shit and I love him. So here we go!
> 
> Thank you for coming to my TED Talk.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!


End file.
